Philothea Blows Stuff Up
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An explosion sounded through the village, as the side of one of the tree-top rooms blew out. The door, incidentally, was still in perfect condition.
“I’m sorry!” Philothea squeaked. She peered out of the hole, hoping the wreckage hadn’t crushed anyone.
“It’s fine,” Raven shrugged. “This will do. See you at the falls.”
“What?” Philothea exclaimed.
But Raven, Zoe, and Fae vanished, leaving her alone.
Philothea could hear the cries of the guards calling for reinforcements. She felt their magic all around her, pulling at her, trying to hold her still. It was now or never. She pictured the fall very clearly in her mind and… nothing happened.
Philothea looked around in a panic. Why hadn’t she moved?
She tried again, and again. The door opened, and guards poured in.
The invisible force around her tightened, choking her. She struggled against it, and the force snapped, sending her spiraling backward out of the jagged gap in the wall. Time seemed to slow down as she saw alternately the branches above her and the forest floor below. Then, her stomach leapt to her throat as she felt herself falling.
Before she even had a chance to fathom her drop to certain death, another force took hold of her, slowing her fall and drawing her close to one of the many wooden bridges that spanned the upper levels of the forest. Someone had caught her; someone’s magic was pulling her to safety, but she couldn’t see who it was.
At last, she landed on one of the walkways. She stumbled to her feet and brushed herself off, trying to get her bearings. The room where she started was several levels above her, easily distinguishable by the splintered gap in the side. On the walkway in front of it, some of the guards lay in crumpled heaps. Her heart raced as she realized this was her doing. Shehad hurt those men. Not only that, but she had sent some of their fellows flying clean off the bridge–what if… A glance over the walkway confirmed her suspicions. Two of the guards had fallen all the way to the forest floor, where they lay unmoving.
She clasped her hands over her mouth. Oh, please, no… she prayed. The idea that she might have killed them made her nauseous.
But she did not have time to linger in regret; some of the guards above were recovering, and others were already making their way toward her through the labyrinth of stairs and bridges.
The bridge where Philothea stood connected two rooms, each built in a circle around a tree-trunk. Neither had windows on the front, and she had no idea what waited for her within them.
After glancing back and forth for a second, she picked the room on her left but found the door locked. Gripping the handle, she focused. A small explosion sent the door flying off its hinges and her stumbling backward.
Not exactly what she was hoping for, but at least this time the explosion hadn’t sent her or anyone else hurtling toward certain death. Philothea jumped to her feet and dove into the room where she was greeted by an unexpected sound–a giggle.
The tree trunk in the center of the circular room partially obstructed her view. She moved cautiously around this, her heart hammering in her chest. On the far side of the room, a little fae child sat up in bed, observing her through wide, green eyes. The child was giggling, crying, and coughing all at once.
“I’m sorry,” Philothea breathed. “Are-are you alright?”
The little girl shrank backward in terror, which was a perfectly reasonable reaction considering Philothea had just blown up her door.
“You’re a half-blood,” the girl whimpered.
Philothea looked over her shoulder at the hole where the door used to be. She didn’t see any guards through it, but she knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up to her. Voices echoed through the wood all around them, fae warriors calling to one another, trying to gather for another attack.
She looked back at the child, hoping she wouldn’t scream. Luckily, the girl seemed to be venting her terror through a cascade of muffled hysteria.
Philothea, being particularly susceptible to the contagion that is giggling, joined in, though she didn’t find anything about the situation remotely amusing. That made the fae child break into a full-blown laugh.
Philothea was alarmed by this, wondering if the child knew something she didn’t. She looked wildly around the room to see if the guards were already upon her.
“Why are you laughing?” Philothea squeaked.
The girl shrugged. “Because, because …I don’t want to die!”
Philothea regarded the trembling mess of a girl before her. The poor thing was being overwhelmed by every existing emotion. In all her fifteen years, Philothea never met anyone more relatable.
Something occurred to her. She glanced over her shoulder to ensure the guards hadn’t caught up to her yet and then said, “Who are you?”
The little girl sealed her lips and shook her head.
Of course, she wasn’t going to reveal her identity to a terrible half-blood. Philothea tried a different approach.
“My name is Philothea, I won’t hurt you.”
The girl looked incredulous.
Philothea was about to try something else when she heard the sound of heavy footfall on the bridge outside. She didn’t have time for this, but… she had to try one more time. There was a window above the girl’s bed; she could always jump through that if worse came to worst.
“The king is my grandpa,” Philothea pressed. “And you’re related to him, aren’t you?”
“I’m sick!” the girl suddenly cried. “Very sick! Go away, or you’ll catch it!”
The girl wasn’t lying; she did indeed look sick. All the fae Philothea had encountered thus far had a beautiful, warm brown complexion, but this little girl was pale and ashy, tiny and frail. She kept falling into these violent coughing fits.
A brisk shouting snapped Philothea’s attention to the door. Just outside, a guard was calling for reinforcements. The idea that the warrior was afraid to approach her on her own made Philothea laugh and cry at the same time.
This agitated the little girl, who pulled her blanket up defensively and shouted. “I’m sick! Very sick! Go away! You’ll catch it!”
Watching the little girl laugh and sob as she trembled in terror convinced Philothea they had to be related. She was probably the king’s daughter or granddaughter, making her either Philothea’s cousin or aunt.
An idea occurred to Philothea. Considering she was in the middle of running for her life, it was probably stupid, but she had to try. The sight of that sick child was heartbreaking, and after blowing up her door and scaring her half to death, the least Philothea could do was try to help.
She reached out and grabbed the little girl’s hand. The child somehow became paler at her touch.
“I’M SICK!” she shrieked.
“No, you aren’t,” Philothea assured, and she willed it to the very depths of her soul.
That’s when the guards charged in. Philothea felt their magic pulling at her. She struggled against it, broke free, and leapt over the child’s bed and through the window.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much outside aside from a few tree branches and a massive drop. Philothea struggled along a thick limb, her hands clinging to the branches above her. As she moved along the precarious branch, she decided she didn’t like heights.
For maybe the first time in her life, she was too terrified to make a sound aside from a whimper. There was no way she couldn’t outrun the fae warriors here, they were so at ease in their home among the trees.
She looked over her shoulder at the window. Why weren’t they following?
“There you are!” came Raven’s voice.
Philothea jumped at the sound and tumbled off the limb toward the forest floor. The same invisible force that she felt before wrapped itself around her, slowing her descent until she landed gently in the leaf litter.
From her position on the forest floor, she could see Raven glaring down at her from the branches above.
“Stay there!” she ordered, before scurrying away down the tree limb as easily as a squirrel.
Philothea sat up slowly. Her hands trembled, her heart pounded, she looked around. At a distance, she saw the fae guards she’d thrown earlier lying on the ground. A few of the castle residents were gathering ‘round them. A thin fae with a somber expression, probably a healer, was kneeling beside the nearest one.
Philothea squealed when a firm hand grabbed her shoulder, she spun around to see Raven. How in the world did she get down so fast? And why did she always move so quietly?
The people helping the fallen guards looked over at the sound of Philothea’s voice, terror washing over them.
“Time to go,” Raven ordered.
“Not yet,” Philothea answered.
“Not yet?” Raven exclaimed in disbelief. “What do you possibly–”
But Philothea was already running toward the closest of the fallen guards. The people around him scattered at her approach.
“What are you doing?” Raven cried, running after her.
Now, Philothea could feel Raven’s magic tugging at her.
“Stop that!” she cried, spinning back toward Raven.
Raven’s magic snapped, and she stumbled backward, swearing.
Since Philothea could hear that she was perfectly all right, she continued toward the guard. He did not look good. Actually, he looked dead. He was pale and breathless. Crimson blood stained the side of his head and the earth around him.
Shaking with horror and grief, Philothea took his hand, her tears splashing down onto his face. She wanted so badly for him to wake. When she tried to heal the fae child, she felt magic go out from her. She had to flee before she could see the result, but she felt to the very depths of her soul that something had happened. Perhaps, perhaps, she could help this guard, too.
She squeezed his hand and focused.
The man gasped and sat up. He looked at Philothea for a long moment before shrinking back in horror.
At the sight of her former victim, alive and well, Philothea did the natural thing–she laughed. This did nothing to put him at ease. He remained frozen in terror, his icy blue eyes wide.
“You’re alright,” Philothea breathed, as much assuring herself as she was him.
“That’s fantastic,” Raven grumbled from over Philothea’s shoulder. “Now, let’s go.”
Philothea glanced around the clearing. An army was assembling among the trees. Fae warriors clad in shining armor were closing in around her.
“You go, Raven!” Philothea cried. “I’ve got to heal the other!”
“You mean the other brute that tried to arrest you?” Raven answered dryly. She rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.”
“It’s my fault he’s hurt,” Philothea objected as she raced toward her second victim.
“No,” Raven called. “It’s his fault. You were just defending yourself.”
Raven had a point, but that did not dissuade Philothea from her task. What was she doing? Had she lost her mind? Yes, she’d wounded both guards. But it was in self-defense. They loathed her. They wanted her dead.
So much in this world outside the temple was confusing. She was constantly questioning reality itself, but there was one thing she was absolutely sure of–she would rather die than kill.
The second man was unconscious, but still breathing.
“You know, I’m risking my life for you,” Raven pointed out. “Have you ever considered that?”
“I don’t want you to!” Philothea called back. “Go! While you have the chance!”
But the chance was already gone. The king’s army had them both completely surrounded. One of the men grabbed Raven’s arm.
Philothea felt their magic taking hold of her.
“Not yet!” she cried. “Let me heal him first!”
But the force around her kept growing, squeezing her. She couldn’t breathe. They were no longer interested in taking her prisoner; they were actively trying to kill her.
It was a strange thing, though she could feel them using their combined magic to break her, she wasn’t afraid. She was frustrated and angry. Why couldn’t they wait one second for her to heal the fallen guard?
She fought them, trying to hold them off just long enough for her healing magic to work.
Finally, the wounded guard opened his eyes and sat up. She’d done it. Despite everything, she had healed him, and now she was too exhausted to fight anymore. She ceased struggling and let the army’s magic overwhelm her.
The Fables of Para Sympan 