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si vis pacem para bellum
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The trip back to the den was uneventful. Beatrix used the time wisely and efficiently to comb her hair in a proper manner. A little magic at her hands and she looked like the old one in a wink. They reached Beatrix’ hideout smoothly though traffic on that day was heavy. Bloom barely remembered it was a week day, but being on the run for weeks now, she had lost track of this kind of reference. It felt like holidays, relaxing in a weird kind of way but definitely a change of scenery.
She pulled her hood up and stepped out of the car, being greeted by Fat Rat and Snig with a little nod as soon as her feet touched the asphalt. They were chewing on a toothpick and she couldn’t suppress a smile at the cliché. All this time they had been nothing but friendly to her and she was glad she had been able to get off the grid in the shadows. Being in Beatrix’ gang had its advantages: no one had searched for her in the underground. Yet. Although this state of affairs was pleasant Bloom knew she needed to move on once she had cleared some facts with Beatrix’ help.
They went upstairs and entered Bea’s quarters. But instead of staying in the room, the dark haired woman took the Wardens’ book and some paper sheets as well as a pen and looked as if she were going out. “I think I know how to help you.”
Bloom arched a brow. “You really are unique. Have you trained mind magic? Did you read my mind?”
Beatrix grinned. “I admit I have always been attracted to Miss Dowling. And yet,” she added, swaggering to Bloom, “there are other great mind fairies in the realm.”
The latter held Beatrix’ cheeky gaze but didn’t answer. “I know a few of them. I agree.”
Beatrix arched a brow. “Mind magic is very powerful. And can be very tricky, as I assume you well know.”
A shiver ran down Bloom’s spine. She huffed inwardly. Farah had uttered similar words upon her arrival, over six years ago. How many more signs did she need to believe? She nodded silently.
Beatrix brushed her shoulder with her fingers. “It doesn’t take a mind sweep to know what you had in mind, Bloom. You’ve been dealing with a lot lately. And if I can give you a hand, I will. I know it’s not easy. I mean, I can’t start to imagine how it is to wake up one day and have all these abilities. On top, you’re the carrier of the Dragon Flame, and somehow affiliated, linked, maybe bounded even, to the Warden. It’s a lot to take. So, in my opinion, when life throws a ton of lemons at you, just start with the first piece of fruit. Or – think wisely. Maybe someone else can do the work for you? However, the real question is: how can you process a ton of lemons to make a durable drink out of it?” She pressed her lips before clucking with her tongue. “And that’s where my genius mind comes into the equation.”
Bloom crossed her arms over her chest. “Honestly speaking, I really burn to know where you found that book. I know I shouldn’t ask, but I’m still asking. So, will you tell me? Because if I understood you well, this book belongs to Farah’s family. Or at least, to her ancestry.”
“Yes, and I should stand tall in her gratitude for the rest of her life. If you want to know the truth, baby girl, I found that book in a mausoleum in a crypt in a little town in Solaria.”
“And why?”
Beatrix sighed. “A few years ago I was working for a big boss. Don’t need to know his name. Thing is, he wanted to con the warlock in place by selling him a wrong artifact.”
“Wait – you’re a tomb raider?”
Beatrix’ lips stretched in full. “You could say that. And I learned from the best. But I decided not to wait with the start of my freelance career and split from that big boss early on.”
Bloom huffed, her eyes widening. “I always felt that mischievous vibe in you, Beatrix, but to think you were a criminal lady, and at such a young age… You truly are full of surprises. A big boss, huh? Have you settled the score with him?”
Beatrix scoffed. “There was nothing to settle. I always delivered.” She shrugged. “He didn’t know the value of things, though. He pointedly looked after jewels and gems because they were renowned to be precious artifacts of the witches. But he left all the real treasures aside.”
“Books.”
“Information. And, books. So, one day, I was in that village, pretty much looking like Aster Dell, in a disturbing way, as I was retrieving a chalice. A gold metal thingy, with rubies and sapphires incrusted in it. I was probing it in my hand, as my eyes landed on a stone in the wall by the shelves. Its overall shape was square but otherwise it was a rounded stone, not a flat one, like all the rest. I approached it, pressed the palm of my hand against it, and the wall moved into the ground. Huh, a secret passage. So I went down, it was a long staircase out of sand stone, and finally found that crypt. It was a very old cellar you could say, not even spiders lived there anymore. I turned my flashlight on, checked every corner and alcove – and there were many, I can tell you, some of them pretty old, like literally, thousands of years – and walked on to the last spot, where an altar was standing. It was out of dark stone, strong and tall, reached up to my chest.” She stopped, remembering the scenery. She went on, eyes afar, under her breath. “It was odd, you know. That book, there, all these years, untouched and so well-preserved. I mean, who in their right mind left a witches’ relic in the living room upstairs but kept an old manuscript in the basement? An old vaulted cellar stuffed with alcoves of dead people at that? Urns,” she added, “there were vases in the niches. So, I took the book in my hands and felt the magic surrounding it. It had been left there willingly.”
Bloom frowned. “There’s something I don’t understand. Where was the chalice you took?”
“In the first basement. It was hidden in a trunk, under old rags, like an old forgotten heirloom, passed from one generation to the next, and left to rot in a wooden chest. Why?”
Bloom paced in the room, one hand on her hip, one finger on her lips. “Because it is quite unlikely that a building, a house, might be preserved that long. The oldest ruins in the First World have been dated to be ten to twelve thousands years old, in Göbekli Tepe, Turkey, buried under tons of soil and gravel. And it was a miracle they were found at all. The first stones were placed in circles with no roof, unlike a vault, and there were no alcoves, but high columns. What you depict is not as ancient. It can’t be.”
“Bloom, you’re talking about archeological funds in the First World. We live here in the Otherworld, where magic permeates everything, remember? Moreover, we might have adjusted to modern life in both worlds in the last thousand years, but I’m pretty sure our worlds differed a lot thousands and thousands of years ago. Why is it so difficult to understand our culture was more civilized than yours, twelve thousands years ago? And thinking of it, the oldest constructions in the First World, like the pyramids and the sphinx and the giant stone figures of Easter Island, uhm… Atlantis…? I don’t want to boast here, but is that so difficult to believe fairies might have been at work there?” Beatrix tilted her head, eyes riveted on the redhead.
“That, or aliens coming from space. Who cares, anyway? Because by the looks of it, the Otherworld underlies rules of its own, where magic preserves things and beings in ways medicine and science haven’t been able to, in the First World.”
“Right. And now we're getting a little closer to this mystery. So I don’t really care why this vault was preserved and looked like a middle-age wine cellar. I took the book and stored it in my bag until I was safe and could study it. I might like to trade things to save a comfortable wealth cushion for my old days, but there are items that would be a heresy to leave in the wrong hands. Or places.”
Bloom considered the young woman’s words for a moment. And for no particular reason, she started to think that this couldn’t be just good fortune. Her eyes floated around while her mind put the pieces of the puzzle together. “Do you believe in fate? Not only between living beings, but that magic has its ways to bring things and people and situations together?”
“You mean it wasn’t mere luck I found the book and brought it back? That you put fire to your room and had to flee and find a hideout in this place? And that I am the boss of this gang? You think there is a higher will and plan behind all this?”
Bloom pouted. “Why not? Seems fair enough for me.”
Beatrix exhaled. “All things considered you seem to be quite the lucky one indeed.”
“That’s not what I meant. What if there was a power stronger than myself or Farah that has always been available but dormant, was longing to regroup, recouple, guiding us towards each other, because we’re better together than apart, because we should be together? Not only because we want it as human fairies, but because the magic within us is so much stronger and has a will of its own? Do you think it could be possible we are being driven to each other because it is our fate, our destiny, programmed and written long before we even knew it? Even before we were born?” She stood in front of the former Alfean student, arms stretched and ready to jump on anything, so tense as she was. “Do you believe in signs?”
“In science?” Beatrix grinned and earned a little slap on her shoulder. “Yeah, well, if what you say is true, then what are we waiting for? We should study this book and find out how the DF is truly linked with the warden. And what their respectful missions are. In order to get you ready to free your princess with the help of your Dragon Flame. Otherwise you’re going to go amok and this would be the end of everything.”
Bloom smirked. “I don’t think my dragon would be so happy. I might still be ignorant of my true powers, but I have the gut feeling we’re getting along.” A puff of smoke and a low rumble let her chuckle. “I need to know his name though. I’m sure we will be able to tolerate each other even better then.”
“Yah, yah… Name it and tame it.” She looked at Bloom, one brow arched up to the seam of her hair. “Let’s go. Here we have no daylight.”
Bloom went to her rucksack to retrieve a little red book and a folder before following Beatrix in the unknown. And it was strangely invigorating.
***
Farah sighed and looked up in the sky. She had wished for a sunset, a moment of peace over a lake, watching as the world went down. That sunset held on, in its intensity and colorfulness. She loved the shades of yellows, oranges, pinks, fuchsias and blues painted across the clouds, reflecting in the endless waters underneath. It reminded her of the creative artwork of Erin Hanson, a painter of the First World she had discovered in the past years. The brush strokes were minimal as the artist used another technique, naming the application of small thick layers of paint, to reproduce the idea of sunsets. The idea was not to be naively exact but to awake in one’s soul the impression a dying sun in a sea evoked. It wasn’t the eye that saw, but the emotions that whirled in an unfocused dance, chaotic and yet ordered, structured. The mind found peace because it didn’t stuck to one particular shape or form. In indefinity, if a neologism was allowed, the mind found definition. In blurriness, the brains’ computer found relief from the exertion of producing a result, trying to fix an image although it was clear it could never be perfect.
Perfection.
She sighed again. She had perfected her storing space, eluded averageness and aspired to reach the ideal, faultless information. But like so much in life, the stored information in her brains was not perfect and the ways she used her magic could always be perfected. From an urge she didn’t understand, innate to her very soul, she had to look for a better way to control and manage her power. She loved magic. Thinking of being a mere human, with no magical abilities, let her shudder all over. She had potential and knew she could be more than anything she had been until now.
And yet she missed something. She built a fist with her right hand and opened it again. Sometimes it helped her to feel her body to know where she was at.
Self-doubts? Ah, she was too long a human to not be depressed from time to time, even if her incredible brains were an asset she would never part from. But it was not enough. Ben’s reaction was a testimony of her incomplete knowledge about – feelings. No, not just feelings – love. For what she had caught from his upset tone, she was to be honest at all times. To have secrets was a no-go, a proof of mistrust and weakness. Did she want to be strong at all times? What did it mean to be with someone? Long ago it had been that she’d stopped loving a single individual and privileged a mass. Yes, her students were like a bunch of colorful bubbles splashing joy in her everyday life. It was a bliss to see them thrive and grow. ‘We focus. We learn. We grow.’ Ha, how pathetic. She remembered having said that catching phrase she had had in mind to stamp a copyright on to more than one student. And Bloom hadn’t been the last one.
Bloom. Fuck.
A squeeze of her life muscle and something like bitterness infused her soul. Bloom was so young and she was so old… She had seen so much of the worlds, and Bloom was just a kind spirit budding out into life. Farah was her teacher and she would always be older. She knew their union was impossible. They didn’t share the same background, the same cultural knowledge, but to a certain extent, no one would ever, where Farah was concerned, if she were really honest with herself. Living almost since a century and a half, who was she kidding? She had accepted the antics of her body and its ways of regenerating. She didn’t understand it all but it was as it was. She couldn’t control it, she couldn’t change it. It was a curse she had to live with, as long as she breathed. And still, she hadn’t given hope yet that it meant something good. It had to.
So, love. Ha. What a joke. She was too old as not to know what dangers love held. And Bloom too young to know of them all. Between them a huge gap of ingenuity, ignorance, naivety, youth… and too much of it all. Bloom hadn’t experienced the troubles coming along a broken heart. And Farah – she sighed, again – had collected them until the moment she had refused to get older and bitter, living only for others, and instead turned her back on life and love to dedicate herself to the emotionless mass of information that knowledge provided. Information could be dissected, lain down and analyzed, consulted and played with. It was trustworthy and secure, just like magic once mastered on. Not like feelings, or the emotions of another person. Farah had long forgotten what it meant to really look at someone without her monk/counselor glasses. For sure she oozed wisdom and was respected by everyone, a proficiency when it came to find solutions to problems no one seemed to solve. But what of her true soul? Where had she left it?
The few times she had felt Bloom in her bed, held her close, seemed to vanish like a dream. She had spent so much of her life on her own that she couldn’t remember what it felt like to be desired, and worse, to desire. Someone, or something. Only pain had let her feel the true sense of life. Pain.
Farah smiled, watching at a sunset she’d wished to stay fixed in the skies. Pain was the only thing that let her feel she was alive at all. More pain, more pressure, more dominance. She had tried it all, the gentleness, the comprehension, the easiness. But her brains had thwarted her plans, reducing every experience to an accumulation of data. ‘Been there, done that, never quite liked it.’ So pain had found a way to sneak in and rule over her emotions. Because she had found nothing positive as strong as to make her blood pulse in her veins. Which was ironical as she taught magic linked with positive emotions. Well, she definitely drew pleasure from pain, so it was, in the end, a positive thought to remember the moments she would be held in an intellectual tight leash, at the mercy of her dom’s good will. She loved power, it was exhilarating. But knowing the other could hold her, control her, channel her, and yet knew Farah would always be stronger, and still play bolder, that made her lose her wits for a moment. She could let it go, give in and fall into lovely dominance. With time it wasn’t only a moment of pleasure. It grew to be a necessity, a tight frame to fare within, sometimes bordering on exhaustion and suffocation, feeling her freedom dwindle at the mercy of her torturer. Taking risks and blows to feel something, anything. Anything but that all-unnerving boredom which gnawed its ways through and hollowed out her life from the inside.
It was more than celebrated masochism. It was a well practiced life-saving measure. Because, somehow, she couldn’t die either. No matter how risky or dangerous the situations had been in which she had been thrown at, with Rosalind, with the Burned Ones, or poison, past enemies, or pathetic plots, she had always survived. No matter where she travelled to, weather conditions and little food to eat and merely no water to drink, she always found a way to stay alive.
The choker at her neck and the runic limiters… oh, they had been one of the best strikes of Rosalind, a genius move, taking Farah totally by surprise and causing such upheaval that she had truly been confused for a while. But she would have come around it if it hadn’t been for Rosalind’s second brilliant idea, to force Farah into cohabitating with Bloom.
Granted, Farah had given her former Light Battalion leader free hand about her sadistic methods, and she had lovingly complied along the years, a deep and resourceful relationship they had shared indeed, but pushing Farah into Bloom’s arms… a bold move and a repaying one at that. How?
Farah sighed, losing sight of the colors and remembering those hours spent at the lake, teaching Bloom how to breathe. She closed her eyes, feeling her hands on the body of the girl, feeling her nervousness, wanting to kiss it away, chastising herself for thinking that way, and retrieving into her role as a model teacher, merely taking care of a student control her magic. But who was she to fool? She had felt Bloom’s vital pulse, her youth swarming like tons of hormones through her veins, her sex vibrating every time Farah was near, ready to give in, and retracting all the same. That day they had looked at the sea and she had lent the girl her coat to shiver herself because of the cold, a warm presence suddenly at her back, a ball of heat between her shoulders. And an innocent explanation… Oh Bloom… “Why did you have to leave…? Couldn’t you have stayed a little longer?”
Farah exhaled a long breath. And then it fell in front of her eyes, just as she spoke it aloud. “Oh Bloom… why have I never told you or showed you what I really wanted to do with you…?”
The sun that had glowed right over the horizon fell in the sea at once. Farah smiled bitterly at the dawning darkness.
What a fool she had been.
All. That. Time.
***
Bloom sat on a couch under a high ceiling tower lit up by tall windows. She would never have surmised to find it there, in the middle of the red district, but here she was. Beatrix had made herself comfortable next to her and was reading out loud out of the Wardens’ book. Bloom listened with one ear, checking her translations in the red book. The pages of the draconian manuscript lay to her feet as printed material from the pictures she had taken back then, meticulously, one after another. She hadn’t done a lot of work, but the little she had managed had been enlightening anyway.
She wondered over and over about the crisp, italic shape of Farah’s handwriting, as if it could tell her something, explain the secrets, and offer her some hope, through time and space. Thinking of it, she didn’t know a lot about Farah, and felt dispossessed of the time she could have had with the mind fairy. Most of the time she was confident she would be able to save the older lady. But on other occasions, impatience took its toll over the gratitude of being back in the Otherworld. It was hard without Farah. She sighed inwardly and redirected her attention on Beatrix' soft babbling.
“The first family consisted of seven boys and a girl, called Callista. She was a maid of fair hair with blue eyes. The girl was a young woman who took care of the snake in its ethereal form, while sticking in the body of a young lad. Callista was promised to a much older man who swore to protect her. And she swore to protect the snake. She bore three sons and three daughters, but only one took over to take care of the boy. The younger daughter, Edina, looked after the snake her whole life. She vowed to be faithful and remain a virgin, but as she went into the woods one day, in her early forties – the age where women got to be grandmothers, it says – she was raped and came back pregnant. She died in childbirth but the child, a girl named Damina, was taken in custody by an older uncle and raised as one of the kids. Unfortunately, the snake, left alone, got scared no one would protect him anymore and fled. The Wardens’ blood survived however, cascading from one generation onto the next, perpetrated by the wisdom and faith of the women. But from Damina’s time spot on, as registered in the index in the end of the book, the trace of the snake has been blurred, the women of the Wardens always on the search for the snake.”
Bloom stopped looking at her prints. “Wait. You’re saying the child of the Wardens, tasked with protecting the snake, the dragon flame, was always female?” Green-blues locked on browns.
“Affirmative. The Warden’s sex survived because the blood found its way into a new vessel via means of reproduction. It did not really matter how many kids were born per generation, the skills would show up anyway. Or so it says in the book.” Beatrix played with a strand of her long hair, twirling it around one finger.
A silence unfolded in the room until Bloom broke it. “That means two things. One, Farah being the last of the Wardens, has to give birth in order to perpetrate the kin of the Wardens. Right? Two, she has the skills needed to protect the Dragon Flame. Three,” Bloom held up a finger, “I know, but, three, she is still alive, I mean, she can’t die. Right?” She turned her head to Beatrix who pouted slightly.
“I’m not sure what you want to tell me, Bloom.”
The latter stood up and paced around, a habit she picked on now every time she felt nervous. Bringing her fingers in a praying position to her lips, she closed her eyes. “But the snake was never found. The girl protected the snake, but she never got pregnant from the snake. She only dedicated her life to protect the snake. For whatever reason.”
Beatrix sighed. “It was not just any good reason, Bloom. The snake, then turned dragon, protected a legendary tree out of silver branches and bronze trunk. It bore apples of gold that were extremely coveted. It is said this tree grew in an underwater realm in the First World, and was the pride of a mighty king. Who once came from here, the Otherworld, and fought the demons of the darkness, called the Fomorians. But as he disappeared from the surface and went underneath, his realm became associated with the world under the worlds, becoming itself the darkness, where instead he was the light.”
“Are you telling me, the daughter protecting the snake, is of…?”
Beatrix exhaled long and hard, meeting Bloom’s blue eyes. “She is, Bloom. Farah is the descendant of a long dead kingly bloodline. Actually, a legendary, mighty, incredible, magically powerful family. And technically speaking, she is a…”
“… princess… a princess, protecting a dragon…”
For a moment time stopped. Bloom felt the folds of space recoil around her. She didn’t belong to that part of the story, she was somewhere else. The woman she had fallen for was not only overwhelmingly beautiful, in her eyes, she was also the heir of a pure blood family, outlasting wars, famines, natural disasters and other humanly imaginable catastrophes. She was power. Farah was a mythical being as much as Bloom herself was the carrier of one.
“But…” Bloom licked her lips. “According to the story, the Wardens never – paired – with the boys, the young men, carriers of the snake’s soul.”
She heard the faint tremor in Beatrix’ exhale. “I’m sorry Bloom. It’s long dead history. Maybe time led to changes, maybe the mission to protect the snake turned into something else over time.”
“No…” Bloom whispered. “It wasn’t just Rosalind… Farah couldn’t love me because of the oath or the vows her ancient blood carried. I might be the vessel of a soul long gone forgotten,” a tug in her heart and a low rumble, like a complaint deep in her, let her feel she was right, “but the honorable task has remained the same. You can’t love and protect at the same time.”
A movement at the corner of her eye didn’t stop her sigh heavily. Only a squeeze at her shoulder. She looked up.
“That’s bullshit, Bloom. You can’t be sure for certain. As I said before, times have changed.”
“But feelings don’t,” the redhead retorted. “Farah will never be able to love me!”
“She will! Because you’re Bloom Peters! And though she bears the blue blood of the Wardens, she is still a woman, a fairy, who survived that long in order to… in order to…”
“Yeah, in order to do what?” Bloom’s eyes widened, and she pushed herself away. “Farah has to find a mate in order to make her blood flow into the next generation. I don’t… I just don’t understand what that hasn’t happened until now.” She turned around to fix Beatrix’ brown eyes. The latter was stern and didn’t move away.
“That, my friend, is your part of the gamble. She could have gotten pregnant, delivered one child after the next. Instead, Farah Dowling preferred to keep to herself and teach and read books. She…” Beatrix looked away, “preferred to follow a sadistic bitch who misused her as pet, instead of following the easy path of contentment and marriage.” She refocused on Bloom. “And she did all this because of you.”
Bloom stared at the former Alfean student, thousand questions swirling in her head.
Beatrix smiled faintly. “I let you be alone in her headmistress’s private quarters, but don’t think for one minute that your fate passed me by. I may not look like it, but I know where to look and combine to find out what the truth is. You see, fire fairy,” Beatrix arched a brow, “that’s the secret of being a high-ranked thief at such young age, the little details no one is interested in, the gestures, the silences, the do’s and don’ts, what people rebuke or disregard with disdain, that’s what I see as true treasure. The things that apparently aren't important. They are to me.”
Bloom watched as Beatrix’ lips simply curled up in a genuine smile. “What do you mean?”
“Bloom, Farah didn’t protect you because you were the Dragon Flame, she protected you because you were the Dragon Flame carrier. She cared for the envelope, before she knew of your power.”
“How would you know?” Bloom followed Beatrix’ tongue all the way from the parting of her lips to her teeth behind which it hid again.
“I was in Aster Dell too, remember? And I had the runic limiters placed on my wrists before Miss Dowling did. And she… interrogated me.” Her eyelids battered quickly.
“What?” A mere whisper.
Heavy brown eyes locked onto her green-blue stare. “She… wanted to know so much about Rosalind and me and you that for a split second her mind was not safe. I didn’t know what it was back then, but I think I used mind magic for the time in my life.”
“You penetrated her mind?” Bloom stood broad-legged, towering over Beatrix.
“Her thoughts slipped through. She was so eager to find out about you and the rest, she… forgot to keep her guard up.” Beatrix tilted her head slightly, an almost imploring look in her eyes.
“What did you see? Or feel?”
“I… I thought I would be able to earn a little esteem from the headmistress, but she only had eyes for you. It was… overwhelming. The thought of you was all-encompassing. It was warm and orange, and joyful. Like laughter in the sun. That woman had always looked grey and dead to me, but her thoughts were filled with mirth and joy. I don’t even think she knew it herself.”
“How could you know…?” Bloom shook her head. “Not even Lady Manifesta could probe her mind. Oh.” She remembered. There had been nothing to find at that time.
“I can assure you Bloom, from the first day you put one foot in Alfea, her thoughts whirled around you.” She swallowed. “And only you.”
Bloom examined the honesty in Beatrix’ eyes but found nothing to blame her for. “You seem… disappointed.”
Beatrix’ eyelids batted quickly, and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking away. “You weren’t the only one looking for a mother figure. One to look up at.”
Bloom’s words died on her lips before she uttered them. “I see. Not quite the kindest of childhoods you had, right?”
Beatrix kept her eyes distant, and gulped. “That’s over now.”
Bloom worried her lower lip before stepping over and taking the dark haired girl in her arms. “Don’t blame yourself. As I told you, you are worthy of the right person who will see you and love you the way you really deserve it. Your time will come, like a silver lining in the horizon... And you will fall in love and do stupid things because you’re in love and get a ring on your finger and marry – them, and have children and…”
Bea scoffed. “Heavens forbid. But I wouldn’t refuse a ring indeed.” She clung to Bloom. They stood like this for a while until she jerked out of the embrace. “But of course! Bloom! The ring!”
The redhead frowned. “Yeah? Like a diamond. On your ring finger. What about it?”
“No, Bloom, the ring! Stella’s ring!”
“What about it?” She hadn’t asked the question, Beatrix ran back to the book, and flipped a whole lot of pages until she found what she was looking for.
“Here,” Beatrix turned around, embracing the heavy tome with her left arm, “the silver branch on the tree was not only a legend or a myth, it was real, real metal, and the slayer of the snake, whose soul lives in you, used the silver of the tree branch to forge metal rings that would help the fairies jump into the First World, where the High King’s realm was hidden. Because as soon as the snake was killed, Callista made sure to bring herself and the boy the snake’s soul had jumped into in a safe place. She immediately asked her father to establish a special security to keep the Dragon Flame guarded at all times, when she couldn’t, in case the perpetrator of the attack would come back. For some time there were no attacks in the realm, and everybody thought the danger had been eradicated. But the murderer came back. Manannán, pronounced “manonun”, so the name of the High King of that time, made sure his family was safe too. But as he checked on his garden and about the tree of the golden apples, one branch was missing. It is said that the wielder had to be a fairy, and that the magic unfolded from self as soon as the branch was touched. It also had soporific properties, but that’s another story.”
“The ring, Beatrix?”
“Oh yes.” Her hands trembled and her eyes glittered. “I think I know how to activate it.”
Bloom shook her head. “Impossible. Stella made sure it was dysfunctional. It was a miracle I stepped back into the Otherworld, if you ask me.”
“Yeah? Is that sooo crazy? Think of it for a second. You’re a fairy and you carry the Dragon Flame in you. You have super powers, Bloom! You’re stronger and mightier than the rest of us. No wonder you could use the ring to jump from the First World back here.”
“Wait. Are you telling me Stella’s ring is…?” She stopped mid-sentence.
“Yes, it is an artifact forged out of the metal of the branch. There are six others, one for each realm of the Otherworld, a teleport to the Realm of the Enemy. In the eyes of the Fomorians. They are said to dwell in the Underworld, in the dimension that humans call Hell. On this side of the world. But if you ask me, I don’t think there is a difference between the human hell and our underworld.”
Bloom checked it now. “So, with the power of the ring, the legendary power of the ring, and an intention, and my magic, or yours, you could teleport me back to Alfea?” That couldn’t be. If that was the case, why hadn’t it worked before? She started to pace the room, the midday sun caressing her steps on the wooden floor.
“Yes and no. You are now in the Otherworld. Your powers work between worlds, not within them. So even if you had wanted to, you could never have used the teleport rings to get you to Alfea. At least, not without external help.”
“So you can help me?”
Beatrix nodded. “I can try. But it might be dangerous.”
“I don’t care. Do it.” She dived into her pocket to retrieve the ring she never parted from. In second thoughts, she pulled out the medallion too. She extended a hand and Beatrix just took both items.
“No, actually, keep them.” She handed them back. “I think it is better if you keep constant contact with them.”
For a second Bloom thought about hugging the dark haired girl but refrained from it. “Ok, I’m ready.”
“Wait! Don’t you need your bag and stuff?”
Bloom looked taken aback. “Wow, I’m just peeping out, not falling of the ring alright. You open the portal and I stretch a head out and I come back.”
“You know portals don’t work that way, Bloom.” Beatrix chastised the redhead. “Once you’re in, you can’t get out.”
“Okay. Let me get my stuff and I’ll be back in a whiff.” She smiled and caressed the cheek of the young dark haired woman in front of her. “My oh my, how much you’ve grown.” She winked and left the place.
She found her bag packed as she had left it, leaning against the wall. She grabbed her things and walked up to the door as she remembered something. She deposited her bag by the door, took a t-shirt and went to the sleeping room where she saw the bed. She placed the piece of cloth right under the pillow and left the room. She smiled, happy with herself.
A few moments later she was at Beatrix’ side.
“What took you so long?”
“Sorry,” Bloom mumbled, “had to use the bathroom.”
“Great. Now show me Stella’s ring and be prepared.”
Bloom did as asked and Beatrix positioned herself next to her. The latter kept her eyes riveted on Bloom. She wasn’t sure, but Beatrix looked like she wanted to say something. Yet, she kept still and smiled.
“We will see each other again, Bea. You know that,” Bloom said, a little insistent.
“We’ll see.” A little pause. “Each other again. But for now your journey is a different one. Hide, wait for me and don’t do anything stupid. Okay?”
Bloom huffed. “I never do anything stupid.” She smirked.
Beatrix took a deep inhale and started drawing a circle of light in the air while her eyes took a deeper shade of pale blue. Within seconds it grew thicker and crackled like electrostatics. And before Bloom knew what happened, the ring in the palm of her hand started sizzling. She swallowed.
“Be ready, Bloom, I can hold it only that long!”
“Okay!”
The circle grew and Bloom steadied her backpack. The membrane of mother-of-pearl flickering light was as appealing as the first one she had jumped through right upon arrival. That time she had fled to see her parents, to see how her mother, scarred in her face for life, was faring without her. That night as she had run back and found shelter in that industrial hangar, run away from the Burned One and lost the ring. That fateful night as Farah as saved her life from the monstrous creature. The way she had looked at the redhead, scared of course, angry, probably, and yet… lovingly too, like a partner fearing for the life of her loved one…? No, that hadn’t been the case. That was wishful thinking. The moment had been so brief, she couldn’t remember.
And yet she wanted to be back then, almost, heart pounding in her chest, in her ears, to see Farah save her. She wanted Farah to be back and command the teenager to flee while she took care of the danger. She wanted to be with Farah, hold her, hug her, be near her, kiss her, melt with her.
She thought of the mind fairy, the way her high cheek bones rounded under her eyes when she smiled, her thin lips stretching, her hair falling framing her jaws, her Greek yet slightly crooked nose and her even prouder chin; the way she fell into secrecy, keeping to herself, while correcting copies and grading exams; the way she looked at Bloom sitting in her alcove when the latter slept or listened to music, looking back from under her crossed arms. Their silences and games, the way they said without saying. And all the complicity the nights sleeping side by side had brought.
She thought of Farah and her eternal steaming cup of tea, her grey dress and the medallion she always wore around her neck, her mascara and the faint powder smell of her foundation. Her moisturizing cream and her buns. Her rings. The sparks in her eyes. The despair in her voice when uttering her wishes and fears, when she thought Bloom slept.
All Farah, the woman she had fallen in love with, whom she wanted to die for, independently from her background and history. The woman who had accepted her, a redhead from Gardenia, in the first place, a child, a mere toddler where magic was concerned. And yet, who would have given her life for her, over and over, words brought to a page, words she held close to her heart, in a little leather tube around her neck, like a talisman.
Farah, the love of her life, the woman she was trying to save, whom she would die for.
She stepped into the ring without seeing it.
And gone she was.
***
Farah panted, a hand on her chest. It was unnecessary and yet, she couldn’t stop it. It felt as real as in the reality she had left – ages ago.
The sensation didn’t recede. It kept pounding as if she had run a marathon. And instead of a night falling, it was a morning dawning. The sun came out again, and she had done nothing to wish it so. It changed from self, and she couldn’t control it. And that was scary.
She stared at the orb cresting the horizon. It was heart wrenching, and for a split second she wished Bloom could be there to see it with her.
“It is beautiful,” she sighed under her breath, eyes on the far line.
“Yes, it is.”
She started at the voice behind her. But she was too scared to turn around, too scared to have to face the reality of her dwindling mind playing games with her. Now she was really turning mad if she was hearing Bloom. Instead she chuckled or huffed or smirked, or did all of it all together.
“Ha, at last you come and visit me, in my realm.” Eyes on the ocean before her, she refused to look elsewhere.
“Turn around. Please.”
She probed the vast gardens of her mind, but found nothing that sounded remotely like Bloom. As if she had forgotten about the girl and placed all her memories in a trunk, and thrown the trunk at the bottom of the sea.
“Farah, I beg you. Look at me.”
The voice, once more. Darker and more assertive as the one she remembered, from the echoes of the past. “No. It’s a trick.”
“I thought so too, at first. But then I understood. I thought of you. I... I wished to be by your side, to find you. I wanted to go to Alfea. But – it’s here I meet you. Farah, please, I don’t know how long the ring will hold. Let me see you.”
Ring? How?
Hands trembling, she slowly rotated on her heels, the intensity of the sun coming out illuminating the whole scenery in front of and behind her. A wall of shimmering watery substance hung in the air, like a translucent bubble with thick seam. It was as broad as her stretched arms and as tall as herself. It looked like an oval mirror, but instead of her reflection, there was…
“Bloom…”
“Farah…!”
The latter brought her hands to her mouth, hesitating. But only for one second, before she walked over and placed her fingers on the flawlessly moving substance, like jelly, or a water wall. Bloom’s reflection was slightly blurred but she recognized the girl, her green-blue eyes, her red hair, though much shorter. She was a bit hunched, the straps of a rucksack siding her chest and her posture was one of a matured woman more than a teenager’s. She dreaded the answer and yet she wondered how much time had passed in the other reality.
“Bloom… Where are you? What are you doing? How…?”
Instead of an answer she felt warmth under her hand. Bloom smiled. A glance at her hand made her almost jerk. For a moment they intertwined fingers, trespassing the boundaries of all the physical realities her mind had made up until then. For a moment, she held onto an improbability.
“Farah, listen to me carefully, I don’t have much time. I am on my way to Alfea to save you. But everything has changed in the worlds we used to call home. Yours, and mine.” A pause. “Ours. The Otherworld is in danger, and needs you.” She licked her lips. “I – need you.”
Farah’s breath caught in her chest. Bloom, wherever she now was, it was her, and she was speaking to her. It was her. “Bloom…” She pulled up her left arm to touch Bloom’s face. Without even knowing if it was possible. She startled as fingers curled around her and kissed her wrist. She choked on the sob coming from her chest. Almost as immediately, her hand was placed back behind the bubble.
“I don’t trust this. It’s just a momentary window in your world. Farah… I’m on my way to save you. But if you could try to close up with whatever all this is, I would really appreciate it. I miss you.”
“I miss you too.” Mere words uttered under her breath.
For a reason she couldn’t explain, she knew it was madness to step into the ring and flee with Bloom. She feared too much to be stuck between the realms, trapping them both. And if she was only there, it was a temporary anomaly.
The circle started diminishing, closing from the bottom. Their fingers were still touching, interlaced in another’s. Farah panted, heart thundering in her heart. Her magic was naught, nothing worked, and she had too little time.
“Farah, I love you. Wait for me. Don’t give up on me.”
“Never.” She closed her fingers a last time before retrieving them. She locked her eyes on Bloom’s, the circle as small as her face now. The last of the girl, her eyes, glittering an intense turquoise.
The bubble disappeared.
Staring at the void in front of her she blinked several times. Bloom had managed to cross dimensions, open a portal to find her, and even touch her. She hadn’t dreamed it, and she hadn’t conjured it. It had all been external influence.
The scenery hadn’t changed. It was still a sunrise over the beach of the lake, but a major element had vanished. Where Bloom had stood moments ago, talked to her and even touched her, there was nothing left but sand and pebbles and flotsam. A crab ran across the scattered pieces of a wooden crate to hide in a corner.
The mirror was gone, as was the girl.
Farah held up her hand, as if she could conjure the ring again. In vain.
I love you, Farah.
“I love you, Bloom.”
The sun warmed her back while the waves and the southern wind carried her words away.