Chapter 19 Rumple
nineteen
Rumple
Rumple couldn’t stand it. Despite his weakened state, he felt too big for his skin.
Too restless. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He needed to learn how to claim his Heart—his very living, human Heart.
While Her Majesty imagined him to be busy searching for her son, Rumple had the perfect opportunity to do just that.
He rose with a renewed purpose and sense of urgency.
There was only one destination in Rumple’s mind for where he might learn more about the Boy who held his Heart.
A flour mill in the far east of Falchovari, where the family who owned it still believed in the Law of Names, and the children told folktales around the campfire at night.
With determined steps, Rumple crossed the short distance back to the polished-stone basin and topped up the water from the copper kettle.
He paused, gloved hand still on the handle.
If Boy’s family believed in the Law of Names, they would also know that a looking glass could be a portal to the shadow realm, and likely would not keep one in their home.
He released his grip on the kettle and let out a frustrated sigh.
Travelling through the looking glass was Rumple’s preferred option.
Not only would it help conserve his magickal energy—something he was in drastically short supply of—but it would enable him to return to Boy quickly should an emergency occur.
He was torn, literally and metaphorically.
There was no assurance that a trip to Boy’s flour mill would yield the knowledge he sought, but idling away in the Tower guaranteed him nothing at all, and time was running out.
He might never get this chance again. The Queen could walk into the throne room at any moment, and even if she didn’t, then by daybreak Boy would likely find himself conscripted into the Collection and Rumple’s existence would become dominated by hypervigilance and a weakened state of being.
He dragged a hand over his face. There was no other option.
Rumple shed his human skin, dematerialising there on the spot.
He slipped through the crevice into the antechamber and bled through the portal back into the human realm, where a new and most fortunate exit presented itself.
Instead of utilising the heavy wooden doorway, Rumple swooped upwards through the partially subsided roof of his cupola.
The moon was lucent in the dark night sky.
It bathed the sleeping Royal City in argent and glinted from the iron armour of the Royal Guards who patrolled the parapet that defended its furthest edges.
But the panorama was far from peaceful. To the north, the low and heavy edge of an ominous storm front gusted closer.
Tempestuous charcoal clouds obscured the stars and Rumple switched his gaze to the east, across the dense and boundless forest that stretched between the palace and his destination.
Unperturbed, Rumple’s shadows melded seamlessly with the inky veil, and without so much as a backwards glance, he sped through the blustery tops of the birch and fir trees.
He easily outpaced the leading edge of the thunderstorm, and despite his need to conserve energy, the canopy blurred beneath him.
Rumple wasn’t sure how far east Boy’s family’s mill was, but he knew roughly the area where beliefs in the old ways remained devout.
Only when he felt that telltale shimmer of magick pass through his noncorporeal form did he slow.
It was a tickling sensation that trilled through his very essence and alerted him to the nearby presence of other geists and creatures of legend.
He assessed the different magickal signatures, not because he was afraid of crossing their path—even in his sundered state he was older and stronger—but because he was working to a deadline and wanted information.
Carelessness now could cost him dearly; an errant encounter with a Fae or a Godling, whilst not deadly, could easily tie him up for a full turn of the moon.
Relieved that nothing nearby was of any concern, Rumple pushed on further east until the forest parsed out. When the silver birch gave way to orchards, and the fir trees to arable land, he knew he was getting close.
The fields that flanked the tree line here effused a cloying and putrid aroma.
Black and rotten stalks that protruded from the ground like wizened fingers confirmed the presence of a korndaemon, a creature Rumple had no time for.
Besides, he knew that Boy’s flour mill was set over a weir, and this space was void of the sound of running water.
Silently, he continued on, and away from the infected countryside.
Rumple passed by three more homesteads, each with a resident feld geist, before he found what he was looking for.
Boy’s home was smaller than he had expected, given the size of his family.
The long and low building was part stone, part timber, with a thatched roof that had seen better days.
Despite being two storeys tall, the upper floor had clearly been converted from the existing structure’s loft space and was likely where Boy’s siblings currently slept soundly.
Most notable of all, however, was the ring of protective magick that encompassed it. Boy’s home was blessed.
Rumple hovered with uncertainty as question after question raced through his mind.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t cross the threshold—the magick was strong but wasn’t woven to withstand his prowess—but the moment he did so, it would alert whatever had spelled it to his presence.
If they weren’t already aware. More to the point, however, was the burning desire to understand why so many magickal signatures were in this exact location.
He scanned the alder trees that dotted the riverbank, the darkened silhouette of the family’s mill in the distance, and the few ramshackle outhouses with various tools leaned up beside them, but there was nothing to be learned.
Rumple either took his chance with whatever had claimed this territory, or he abandoned his quest.
An owl hooted from somewhere nearby, and someone cleared their throat. Rumple couldn’t remember the last time anyone had successfully snuck up on him. He blamed it on his weakened state and spread his shadows out wider as he searched for the source.
“Guten Tag,” came a small and high-pitched greeting.
To his right, perched on a rock, was an earth geist as tall as one of Boy’s calloused fingers was long.
Disproportionately large ears tilted and twitched at every nocturnal sound, and they reminded Rumple of the long-eared bats that inhabited the caves at the foothills of the Oberland Mountain Range.
Unruly dark hair dominated the space between them, and a pair of wide-set eyes shone up at him from under straggly tips.
The tiny earth geist shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coveralls and rocked backwards and forwards on oversized bare feet.
Had Rumple the energy spare to risk a transformation into his human skin, he would have raised his eyebrow in silent question.
Earth spirits seldom showed themselves, and never alone.
They dwelled in the vacated mouse holes of houses, and what the diminutive spirits lacked in stature they made up for in number—but no other could be seen.
Rumple couldn’t help but wonder what had emboldened this one to approach. If he was afraid, he didn’t show it.
“If you’ve come for the artefact, you’re too late,” he announced, then promptly dropped into a seated position in a manner so reminiscent of Boy that Rumple did a double take.
The little earth geist swung his large feet back and forth, allowing them to bounce off the rock freely, but never once took his gaze from the centre of Rumple’s shadowed mass.
Not for the first time since he’d stumbled across his Heart in the palace cells, Rumple found himself on uncertain ground.
Shadow geists didn’t converse with strangers—or one another—but earth geists were notorious for it.
Still, the tiny spirit really shouldn’t have approached Rumple to offer information, especially about the existence of a nearby artefact, and Rumple definitely shouldn’t entertain the idea of asking questions of his own.
Rumple had done a lot of things lately that arguably he shouldn’t. “Too late?” he asked, keeping his form obscured and his voice low. He didn’t know how many other earth geists might be close enough to overhear. Hundreds, possibly.
“Ja. He vanished,” the tiny geist pulled his hands from his pockets and counted on his fingers. “ten turns of the moon ago.”
“He?” The question was out there before Rumple realised he had spoken.
With a definitive nod of his head, the earth spirit added, “The rest of the family remained, and we stayed because we thought he might come back.”
Rumple’s shadows swirled with vehemence. The tiny spirit was referring to Boy. These other geists had found him first. Had used him to strengthen their magick. Used him to place a protective ward when they had no right!
His shadows lashed against the earth geist’s barrier in fury, and Rumple roared loud enough to shake the ground beneath them. In need of retribution, a thick tendril of shadow magick wrapped around the rock and the cowering earth spirit popped a golden defence ward.
Rage forced Rumple to partially materialise. His shadows lifted both the rock and the surprised geist through the magickal barrier with ease, and he seethed. “You have no claim! Boy is mine!”
Without warning, hundreds more earth geists sprang from the ground, each wrapped tightly in the gold and green aura of their earth magick. The diminutive spirits moved as one as they rushed towards Rumple with astonishing speed.
Rumple retaliated with expert precision. His thick and oppressive shadows surged forward. They blanketed the churned-up ground of Boy’s homestead, swallowed the angry geists’ war cries, and dimmed their glittering light.
“Please! Stop!” cried the tiny spirit, who was stuck fast upon his rock. “We didn’t know there was a Heart-Bond. He bore no sign!”
The shadows that had crushed the rock so tightly a fissure had developed through its centre paused.
“A Heart-Bond?” Rumple repeated out loud.
Emphatically, the earth spirit nodded his head, and the wild swing of his dark and messy hair accentuated the motion. “No magick had entered him. It’s why we blessed the land.”
Rumple slowly lowered the rock and trapped the other earth geists in place with his shadows while he thought through what this meant.
Boy was an amplifier, an artefact, it was only natural that he would have drawn the earth spirits to him.
But Boy wasn’t made for earth magick, it couldn’t enter him, and so the best the tiny spirits could do was as they had done—live close by and benefit from his vitality.
Boy was, however, made for shadow magick. He was his Heart.
Rumple placed the rock back on the ground and withdrew his shadows as a slow smile overtook his face.
All this time, he’d been searching for a way to possess his Heart—to take it into himself—when it was the opposite that needed to happen.
To claim his Heart, Rumple simply needed to infuse it.
He needed to imbue Boy with his shadow magick, much like he had with his golden thread collar.
Rumple’s features fell. But if he did that, if he claimed his Heart that way, then would he risk losing Boy? The human who had captivated him and blessed him with his own magick.
The leather of his gloves creaked when Rumple’s fists clenched. He had finally learned how to claim his Heart, and yet he still couldn’t do it. He ground his back teeth.
Furthermore, if he claimed his Heart now, then Boy would also be consumed by the Queen’s black magick. But could Rumple leave him unclaimed, knowing that Boy would remain mortal and vulnerable to abuse by other geists?
Rumple was responsible for Boy’s life, and either way, it would end.
The earth geist anxiously wrung his hands together, and the tiny spirit’s visible agitation vexed Rumple.
“What?” he abruptly demanded.
“It’s just… You said the artefact is yours, but…”
Rumple roared in frustration, and the earth geist’s aura gleamed a brighter shade of green in response.
“There was no Heart-Bond,” the earth spirit spoke in a rush. “Which means he has yet to choose you.”
The homestead fell silent. Rumple’s shadows froze. “He has yet to choose,” he repeated.
“What makes a living artefact special,” continued the small spirit, “is that they cannot be possessed. You cannot claim him.” The earth geist pushed his hands back inside his pockets and rose up on his tiptoes. “Only the human can form the Heart-Bond. He has to choose you.”
The hollow of Rumple’s chest ached, and his mind reeled.
The Queen’s fresh summons ripped through him so suddenly and definitively that he staggered in place.
“Mirror, mirror.” Queen Schon’s musical lilt washed over the gathered earth geists like a powerful wave, and they sank back below the ground. “Show me my Pet.”
The searing barbs of her black magick burned hot, and he dropped to his knees.
If Boy chose him, there was nothing Rumple could do to keep him from a lifetime of painful servitude—to keep him from certain death.
And if Boy didn’t choose him, the Queen would conscript him to her Collection anyway. Boy would remain mortal, and eventually succumb to it, and there would be nothing Rumple could do but watch his Heart die.
He lowered his head as another lancing pain slashed through him.