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It had been a long day. A long and tiring day, one that did not require any more bad news to be sent Salt of Solidarity's way.
His fellow Virtues had been slowly abandoning their purpose in protecting cookiekind, and now they were turning on him too. It seemed he was the only one left who was still trying to fulfill his holy mission… and this was what he got in return.
The letter he had found on his room's doorstep contained only one dreadful sentence, written in a barely legible scrawl.
“Meet us at the eastern edge of the Great Barren, unless you want the butterfly to lose its wings.
- Overlord of Destruction”
He gripped the paper so tight, he almost ripped it in half. Overlord of Destruction worked for the Herald of Change, or Burning Spice Cookie, as he was calling himself now. His soldiers and lackeys have been causing great disturbances all across Beast-yeast — especially aimed at Salt — but they have never stepped this far out of line.
There was no time to wallow in self-pity, though. He rushed to the stables, brushing off several knights that asked about his distraught state. He was halfway done mounting his horse when Salt Cellar Cookie entered the stable.
‘Lord Commander?’ She held Nox's reins tightly, not allowing him to ride off. ‘Where are you headed?’
‘East. I'll be back soon.’
‘May I ask what's got you so anxious to leave, Commander?’ It was clear she wasn't going to relent. ‘And why you're not taking any knights with you for assistance?’
Without a word, he passed the note to her. He hoped she couldn't tell that his hands were shaking. She read it. Then, she read it again, understanding dawning on her face.
‘I will gather a squadron of the fittest cookies,’ she decided.
‘There is no time. I do not trust the Wild Spices… any delay might be fatal.’
‘Lord Commander, if I may,’ she started sternly; he, however, did not bat an eye. Noticing that she'd let go of Nox's reins, he hit the horse's sides with his ankles and took off, leaving Salt Cellar behind in a cloud of dust.
‘I’m bored,’ complained a cilantro cobra, playing with her dagger. ‘I don’t sssee why we have to ssstand in thisss middle of nowhere with this ssstuck-up prick. He’sss not even that entertaining to watch!’
Elder Faerie felt slightly insulted. Still, he didn’t so much as look in her direction.
He’d already considered his options numerous times. He was outnumbered seven to one, his ankles were bound, and his hands were tied behind his wings, so that he couldn’t use any of his limbs to escape. He had a gag in his mouth that was tied way too tight for his liking, and which left an unpleasant taste on his tongue. A saffron buffalo was currently playing with the faerie’s sword recklessly, paying no mind to any dent he might leave on it.
He was trapped. And his captors were starting to grow impatient.
‘He isss running late,’ noted the same cilantro cobra as before.
‘Patience,’ said a cookie who seemed to be in charge. His dark hair was tied in multiple buns and braids, and he wore nothing but a golden waistband and a mask that covered his eyes. ‘Our orders said to keep the faerie alive.’
‘Alive, yes,’ said one of the other cookies present. ‘But no one said anything about unharmed.’
Another saffron buffalo came closer to Elder Faerie, dragging the tip of his dagger across the fae king’s face; not hard enough to cut but enough to threaten.
‘It would be such a shame to ruin his pretty face…’ Some of his spit landed on Elder Faerie’s ear; he grimaced in covered-up disgust.
‘Our sssalty friend would certainly get the urgency if he sssaw him… unwell,’ suggested the cilantro cobra.
‘We could have so much fun with you…’ hissed another of the Wild Spices.
All of the cookies surrounding Elder Faerie turned to their leader. They were asking for approval. Approval to hurt him.
He wasn’t scared. Or, at least, he wouldn’t let them know he was. He stood with his back straight and head raised high, not allowing a single drop of sweat to trickle down his forehead. He had his pride to look out for… and he couldn’t give those reckless cookies the satisfaction of his defeat.
So, when the cookie in charge nodded in approval, he almost didn’t shudder.
He didn’t have time to dodge the first strike; someone’s hand came for his stomach and hit him hard in the guts. Against his own intent, he doubled over. Before he got fully over the pain, someone grabbed him by his long ponytail and pulled his head back so fast that his mouth went agape despite his gag. He tried to struggle out of the cookie’s grasp, but right then his legs were kicked from underneath him and he toppled to the ground like a cut-down tree.
Mocking laughs surrounded him as he raised himself to his knees. His eyes darted around, looking for any kind of tool to fight back. Most of them were out of the question with his hands still behind his back.
His pondering was cut short by someone kicking him in between his shoulder blades. He felt all air leave his lungs as his face hit the dirt. He groaned in pain, despite his initial plans of being unbothered. Clearly, the other cookies took that as encouragement.
He rolled to the side, so that at least he would be on his back and face his current opponent. And good thing he did, because a dagger strike came down at the place he’d been laying in just half a second before. He managed to get into a crouching position; he could have moved his tied hands under his legs now to have them in the front; alas, his wings were in the way. Witches damn it.
He dodged too slowly, and a throwing star that came for his eye managed to slide across his cheek, leaving a deep gash that leaked jam, which was as silver as liquid mercury. He hissed in pain and got up, although what he was going to do, he didn’t know. His legs were tied too, so running was not an option… whatever, he was surrounded anyway. His attackers all stood in a circle around him, so he turned around slowly, not wanting to have anyone where he couldn’t see them. His head and eyes were darting around, he felt like a mouse caught in a trap.
He felt someone grab his arms from behind to hold him still, and another hand that traced along his left wing…
Abandoning all attempts of remaining regal, he tossed a slur at the attacker. The gag muffled the word but the message was still clear.
‘Hit a nerve, didn’t I, little butterfly?’ The voice was laced with venom, devoid of sympathy. ‘Let’s see what else we can get out of you…’
Next thing he remembered was pain. So much pain, unlike any he’d felt before. The metal that sliced through his wing was cold, and yet it burned him like acid. The wing didn’t drop jam. It simply hurt. It fluttered in spasms, sending more waves of pain down the faerie’s entire body. He hadn’t even realised he was screaming; now his throat was growing sore. He felt a hand touch the tip of his other wing, he tried frantically running away but someone grabbed him by the hair, he felt another kick to the ribs, his vision was clouding…
‘Leave him. Now.’
The person holding his hair let go, then slumped to the ground. A stream of jam reached Elder Faerie’s field of vision. His thoughts hadn’t fully cleared yet but he knew one thing: he wasn’t going to take his chances. He began moving away on the dirt, dragging his throbbing body along, his torn breaths rasping out of his chest way too quickly.
Then, someone grabbed him, pulled him up and pressed a knife to his throat. He had no strength to pull himself out of their grasp.
‘I see you’ve made it at last, Salt of Solidarity.’ The voice belonged to the leader of the group. And that name… Elder Faerie tried to blink to clear away the haze clouding his view and get a good look at who was standing in front of him. Even through the blinding pain, he could recognise that white armoured knight perched atop his black stallion.
‘S-salt…’ he rasped out, quickly going quiet when he felt the knife at his throat press a bit tighter.
‘Let him go,’ ordered the Virtue. The cookie behind Elder Faerie only laughed.
‘If you try killing any more of us, I will cut his throat,’ he said casually. ‘Now listen to our terms and maybe you’ll both make it out of here in one piece.’
Salt’s helmet made it so none of them could read his expression. However, he stood in silence and did not attack. The leader took that as an agreement.
‘The Bringer of Destruction demands your souljam.’
Salt of Solidarity reached for his sword again, enraged. How dare they. He stopped himself, seeing Elder Faerie’s pleading eyes. He was losing consciousness, and it was apparent to everyone involved. His face was covered in silver jam and dirt, and his wing…
Salt stopped the bile rising in his throat and steadied his voice. He placed his hand in Nox’s hair to calm himself down. The horse neighed reassuringly.
‘And what does Heral- I mean, Burning Spice Cookie want with my souljam?’
‘What do you need it for is the better question,’ the Overlord of Destruction asked mockingly. ‘Why would you be worthy of such power if you can’t even be bothered to use it?’
Salt had to remind himself that if he made a wrong move, Elder Faerie was as good as dead. He had to control his temper. The problem was, this was a stressful situation, and he could never handle those correctly.
‘Burning Spice Cookie is the one who has abandoned his souljam’s purpose,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘If anyone is worthy of this power, it is me.’
‘We’re not here to have philosophical discussions.’ The Overlord of Destruction clearly rolled his eyes, even though it should be impossible to tell through the mask. ‘All you need to do is hand over the souljam, and we’ll give you back your friend. Otherwise…’ He dragged the knife very lightly across Elder Faerie’s throat. It let out a single drop of jam. Elder Faerie’s eyes rolled back and fluttered closed.
Salt dismounted his horse and rushed towards the unconscious faerie, but the five remaining cookies stood in his way.
‘Souljam,’ reminded the Overlord. ‘Then you can have your boytoy back.’
Salt couldn’t even take the time to be insulted. His trembling hand went up to his chest, where the glistening gem of his soul was held. He couldn’t hand it over. It would be catastrophic. But Elder Faerie… he couldn’t leave him like that… and If he’d try to fight his way through the line of cookies, they would slit the faerie’s throat without question.
‘The clock is ticking,’ teased the cookie. The words hardly reached Salt’s brain.
This is a terrible idea, said the voice of reason in his head, growing quieter by the second. If Burning Spice Cookie gets the souljam…
But he was no longer listening to the reasonable part of his head. All he was focused on was that the faerie’s unconscious body had slid slightly closer to the ground, very nearly impaling himself on the edge of the knife held at his throat.
He weighed the gem in his hand. He hadn’t even realised he’d taken it out of his chestplate.
His heart was beating too fast.
He was out of options.
He couldn’t think.
He was-
A swish of an arrow passing by, then the scream of the Overlord of Destruction. He let go of Elder Faerie, who slumped to the ground. The sounds of horses, armour and weapons filled the area as the spice cookies were slaughtered with ease. Someone scooped up the faerie king’s body and held it on their horse.
‘Knights of Kala Namak!’ Salt’s heart lifted with relief. A smile formed on his face — one that no one else could see but they all knew was there.
‘Lord Commander,’ Salt Cellar Cookie rode up to him. She was the one who’d picked up Elder Faerie. ‘With all due respect, you are a fool.’ Her voice wasn’t harsh, but relieved. He laughed, placing his souljam back into his chestplace, where it was safe. He cleared his throat.
‘I knew you would come help me,’ he said.
‘We both know that’s a lie. Now come on, let’s get you both back to the stronghold.’
Salt of Solidarity climbed atop his horse, who gave him a judgemental look.
‘I know I was being stupid,’ he whispered to Nox discreetly. ‘Don’t ever mention this to anyone.’
Elder Faerie woke up with a groan. Everything hurt, and worst of all, he couldn’t remember why. He tried turning on his side, and his hands immediately flew to his side as nauseating pain shot from his rib. He risked looking down at himself.
He was in a bed; not his own, though. He wasn’t wearing a shirt but was wrapped in many bandages that smelled of familiar healing potions. His right wing had been left as he usually kept it during sleep, but his other one…
He felt his throat tighten at the sight of the thorough gash that ran through the middle of his stretched-out wing. It didn’t hurt as much anymore. However, seeing it reminded him of everything that had occurred. And, even if he wouldn’t feel the pain at all, he would mourn nonetheless. A faerie’s wing was their greatest pride, their most valuable and beautiful possession. And now… Tarnished. Useless. Disgraceful. Perhaps it would heal, in time. But it would never be the same again. And he may have lost his flight forever…
‘You’re awake!’ The voice is tired, filled with relief. Salt’s imposing figure comes into view, and Elder Faerie realises he’s not wearing his helmet. His pale eyes and salt-and-pepper hair are exposed, and his scarred face’s wrinkles curve in a smile.
‘Salt…’ he tries to speak. His voice, however, fails him.
‘Shh. Just rest. They really messed you up back there.’ Salt’s voice is quiet, which he’s grateful for. ‘Thank the Witches you’re okay.’
‘You… you saved me,’ Elder Faerie rasped out.
‘No,’ Salt whispered mournfully. ‘No, I was being a complete idiot. If it weren’t for Salt Cellar, we’d both be done for.’
‘Oh, don’t sell yourself short,’ the faerie whispered, raising a weak hand to touch the other’s unshaved cheek. ‘You looked really imposing.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, my king.’ The Virtue laughed briefly but the laugh died in his throat once his eyes fell on the torn wing. ‘I’m so sorry for… this. I should’ve gotten there faster, I should’ve-’
‘There’s nothing you could have done,’ Elder Faerie cut him off. ‘Don’t blame yourself for this, it…’ he paused for a moment, ‘It hurts enough as it is.’
Salt didn’t speak for a moment; then, he lowered his head so that it hovered just above Elder Faerie’s. It did not evade the fae king how he briefly looked at his lips before kissing him on the forehead.
‘You are welcome to stay here for as long as you’d like,’ Salt said, pulling away, much to Elder Faerie’s regret. ‘I do believe your denizens will fare quite well for a few days of your absence.’
He went to the door, and Elder Faerie didn’t stop him… although he wished he did.
‘I have duties to attend to. Someone has to explain my and Salt Cellar’s absence, along with a couple dozen knights.’ With a gloved hand already on the handle and his helmet back on his head, he turned towards the faerie one last time.
‘Rest, my friend. Rejoice in your survival.’
Elder Faerie watched him leave the room; just before the door closed, though, he managed to utter one last sentence:
‘Salt… Thank you.’