14 Zarev
I notice quickly that Rapunzel is missing. Modred keeps rambling, telling me all about how horrid Rapunzel and her family are for another few minutes. I’m already aware the golden princess is going to be a liability, and once I realize I can no longer hear her, my nerves stand on end.
I warned her about the dangers in the forest. She should at least scream.
I’m not really eating, but the berries should help the princess for the time being. I’ve almost given up on the task of going in search of her. I saw her snacking as she picked anyway.
“She ruined it, you know. Arthur's plan.” Modred’s voice makes me want to reap this man just for the silence, and it’s going to be the very first thing I do when my magic is stronger again.
“And what plan was that, spirit?” I ask, almost bored. Modred is a sneaky man, and he’s already tried to leer and pry too many times since yesterday. His presence is annoying, but not malicious yet. There’s days before that happens.
Modred glances towards Rapunzel, then back. “Princess is a pretty one. Camelot needs a new Queen.”
I groan. I’ve heard this story before too many times from others in Mystica playing the same game. “Tell me Arthur didn't come up with some ridiculous plan to try and marry the princess.”
The spirit nods, bobbing his head so fast it separates from his ghostly body for a moment. “Indeed. He picked me up in port and turned the ship right around. Said I needed to push her, make her upset. He could swoop in and comfort her before offering her father a deal. We expected her to be more tired than she was. Midas claims she can only use her gift every once in a while or it's not as strong.”
I scoff. “Arthur's plan was to turn Rapunzel into some needy damsel that he could swoop in and save her?”
“Yes. Arthur said if I did a good job I could use her whenever I wanted.”
I narrow my eyes. He's not descriptive about how he might use her, but I suppose it can't be good with the plan they already thought up. “This story isn't making me pity you, Modred. If anything I'd rather let you suffer a while longer.”
He scowls. “It wasn't my plan! She ruined it anyway.”
“Yes. I'll be sure to tell her of the plan so she stops feeling guilty about melting your face off.”
Modred growls, which sounds more like a wail without his lungs. A hand presses to his chest, the anger dissipating to despair. “Send my soul on, Reaper. I can feel myself starting to snap. There's so much anger burning beneath.”
I toss a handful of berries in my mouth, moving down the path towards where the princess went. There's an overhang of trees, but I don't hear anything so she can't have gotten far. “As long as I don't need to use my magic much today I should be able to send you on by the evening.”
“What kind of Reaper are you, Zarev?” he snarls, zipping closer to me. There's madness in his eyes, making me briefly think of the Mad Queen. It’s anger for his death, not for me. I’ve learned the difference over the years. “I don't want to stay here! I don't want to be dead! At least let me pass on.”
I pop the last of the berries in my mouth, studying him. After his little story I'm tempted to let the man fester in his own guilt for a while. There's a good chance his Uncle Arthur is back at the palace still trying to cause problems, or perhaps he set sail and is headed back to Camelot. Better yet, I’d love to learn that he burned in that fire we saw in the castle.
Grasping the scythe that's settled over my shoulder, I heave a sigh. “Watch, spirit.”
The scythe glides easily over my shoulder, and Modred jumps back despite himself. I spin the long weapon, the sickled blade arching in the air. The shadows burning inside me rise up, and when I spin the blade again I purposefully start slicing into the air.
A thin, black line appears. Modred gasps as I drag it down empty space, looking unsure whether he wants to step closer or leap back. When I pull the blade away, instead of a gap forming, the inky blackness disappears.
“I can't help you pass into the afterlife if I can't open the door yet,” I tell him, his eyes comically wide. “When my magic is strong enough I can open the door with ease. But it's not back yet.”
Modred swallows, And I think I've finally stunned the ghost quiet. With a shake of my head I turn away, marching back the way Rapunzel went. The shadows lick at my feet, my magic pulling at me to slip behind the comforting barrier they can provide. Just because I cannot send Modred on yet doesn’t mean my shadows abandoned me.
Rounding the corner, I don't see the princess. The path ahead is wide, and although there's still plenty of berries to pick, I don't see her anywhere.
There are some scattered across the ground though, and my eyes narrow again as I place the scythe back along my back. There was no sound of a struggle, so no one snuck onto the path while Modred yammered.
Stepping closer to the berries, I feel something… strange. It pushes as my shadows, making them lean to one side and away from the opposite edge of the path. I pause, waving a hand, and find the same resistance. It's not stopping me, but something puts pressure along my palm, trying to turn me the other direction like a barrier is in the way.
“You playing with the wind?” Modred asks behind me, and I wave the opposite hand to shoo him away. “Princess ran off on you, finally. She learned to run from death.”
“I don't believe so,” I mutter, spinning my hand in a lazy circle. The resistance bows, and I can see my shadows pressing at an invisible barrier. It's not terribly strong, so I'm assuming whoever set this up didn't plan for a strong magic user to happen along the path.
I snap my fingers, calling the shadows forth, and they envelope me. I'm sure Modred can't tell the difference now that he’s dead, but I certainly can. The haze that I can pick out around my feet tells me the illusion is in place, and no one can see me if I don't want them to.
“Hey! Stop using magic! You'll never send me on at this rate.”
“You’ll be gone soon enough.”
Before he responds, I press my hands together and shove against the barrier. It breaks with ease, and I watch as my shadows surge forward into the open space.
There's an immediate drop hidden behind, leading to a steep hill. I can see where Rapunzel’s shoes are scattered and her corset is caught up in the branches of a tree.
But there’s no princess. There's lines in the dirt where I'm assuming she rolled, and no other prints.
I press a hand to my chest when a surge of pain rocks through me. Usually if I wander into a place drenched in the souls of the waiting dead, it washes over me in waves. This is like slamming into a wall, and it makes me gasp for breath as the shadows pulse at my feet.
I didn’t even feel this in Tressa, where there should be thousands of dead.
Now that the barrier is gone, I can sense perhaps a dozen souls here. And it’ll take more magic than I have to help that many spirits find their way through the gates. I can’t even manage Modred right now.
Hopping down the sloping side, I make my way down the hill. Modred’s ghostly appearance is an unwelcome companion on the journey, but at least he's gone silent for now.
There's a scrap of fabric further down the hill and I finger it for a moment, debating going back for the clothes she holds so dear, but they won’t do much good if she’s been stolen. Glancing around, there's nothing immediately obvious in either direction to tell me where she went.
I lean down, studying what seems to be footprints in the dirt. It's all loose down here, so it's hard to make out, but these might be the princesses' footsteps. They’re too small to be a man's and there’s impressions of her bare toes in the soft earth.
“Z… Zarev.” Modred’s voice is filled with fear for once.
Glancing up, I pause. There's a young girl down the path a ways, but I know before I can make out her features that she's not among the living.
Her form is ghostly like Modred’s, who's panicking like the spirit is going to attack him. She's more transparent, so she's been this way a long while. Standing, I dust off my hands and approach her.
“Zarev!” Modred hisses again. “That girl is dead!”
I ignore him, walking down the path towards the girl. She doesn't move to approach, her long hair floating around her as she waits, levitating a few inches off the ground. There’s going to be more around here, but she’s the only one I can see right now.
I wince when I get closer, her hands reaching out. Where the eyes should be, there's nothing but empty sockets. Someone hurt this girl, so not every bit of her soul crossed into the afterlife with her. If she’s tethered here by something, she can’t pass on. And from how wispy and disengaged her spirit appears, sections of her almost floating away from each other, I imagine she’s been trapped for a long while.
“Who's there,” she says, her voice nothing but a whisper. “Have you come back again?”
I'm not sure what she means, so I settle for stopping a few paces away. If she's missing parts of her soul, her spirit will be vengeful. “My name is Zarev. We haven't met before. Are you waiting for someone?”
The girl snarls, revealing jagged and broken teeth. “You cannot come here, Reaper! You cannot interfere with Madame’s work!”
I cock my head. “How do you know I’m a Reaper?”
She bares her teeth, before bashing a hand into her head. “Four Reapers! Four to set us free, yet we see not one of yee. Ban, Lucius, Raymundo and Zarev, four tortured souls to save the dead.”
I resist the urge to shudder. This spirit has listened to rumors and lies, the ones that get passed down by the paranoid. Too bad she knows names. Clearing my throat, I decide to try and steer this conversation the other way. “Who is Madame?”
She steps back, shaking her head repeatedly as she speaks. “Madame hasn't had a tasty girl in a long time. Only rabbits and deer and fish. Nothing pretty and broken. You can't get in her way! When she has a new toy to play with, I can go free. Begone from here. Reaper, Reaper, Reaper!”
This poor girl lost her mind, and even Death isn’t helping her see clarity. If she isn't talking about Rapunzel I'd be surprised. Looking around, I don't see anything to indicate a place she might be talking about. “Do you have a name, spirit?”
“Gretel. Gretel, Gretel, Gretel !”
She slaps her hands into the open air before lunging forward, ghostly hands turning abnormally long as she reaches for me. I jump back, reaching for the smaller blade hidden in my cloak, and swipe at her.
Gretel screams, rearing back from me. She moves to cover her arms, but the blade can do no lasting damage to her like this. Like my scythe, it’s designed to handle spirits and shadows, not harm. “Reaper! Where were you? No one saved us!”
I lick my lips, deciding to try again. Gretel has gone insane in her death, but I need answers to fix her imprisonment here in the land of the living. “Who is Madame?”
Her head twitches, the empty sockets staring right at me. “She's Madame. The witch, the cook, the ogre, the gran!”
Now she's lost me. There's much in Sherwood that flies under the radar, mainly because there are not enough people and not enough Reapers to look into every tragedy that goes on. And what's happened to this girl is tragic. “Does she wear a disguise?”
“Yes! Bakes us up nice and good, to keep all our sweetness in her house so warm.”
Spinning, I peer around. There's no house immediately visible. It's probably shrouded by more magic.
“You can't save the girl,” Gretel hisses, and I turn back once more. “Madame needs all her pretty pieces! Then she'll let me be free.”
I frown. She's tortured and her soul is going mad being trapped in a place of torment. She was young, with a dress that tells me wherever she used to live, she didn't have much money for extras and now she’s missing her eyes. Her limbs are long and awkward, so she was most likely a very young child when the Madame stole her eyes.
I'd help this girl far before I'd trouble myself with Modred.
“Can you lead me to Madame?”
“No!” She leans forward, dropping her voice to that scratchy whisper again. “No, she's working.”
“If you help me, I'll help you,” I tell her, and the girl's eyeless face tilts upward like she’s trying to look at me. “Madame doesn't want you talking to a Reaper because a Reaper would help you pass on, and then there's no power she can hold over you.”
The spirit's lips tremble, And she points to her face. “I have no eyes. What did she do with my eyes? Can I pass on with no eyes?”
Technically she can, but it works better when the soul passes on as a whole. “I can look around for your eyes if you help me find my friend. Madame doesn't need to have power over you anymore.”
Gretel hesitates, and I know she's debating it. “Would you… grab Hansel?”
“Hansel?”
She nods. “My brother. I think they still like to pick at the skin left on his bones.”
My jaw clenches. People who torture children are my favorites to reap. The process can be so much more painful if I want it to be. “Why don't you guide me to where your brother is? I'll see if I can't help out my friend and Hansel, okay?”
Gretel hesitates, and her small body starts to back away. If she runs she could take me in the wrong direction, and something might really happen to the princess by the time I find out wherever she is.
This would be a great time for Golden Girl to melt someone's face off again.
“You promise to get him?” Gretel snaps. “Not just your friend?”
“I will do all I can. But you need to show me where Madame's house is.”
She slowly nods, holding her hand out blindly. “And you have to kill the thing pretending to be him.”
“What thing?” I ask, placing my hand in hers. Being blind doesn't deter her, and she immediately pivots and starts to drag me the other direction, her grip strong for a wayward soul.
“I - I don't know. It's something Madame takes care of. He looked like a man I've seen on wanted posters before. Robin the Brave. Then they took all of Hansel’s skin and now he looks like my brother. He had the face of my family before I lost my eyes.”
My shoulders tense. I saw Robin the Brave rotting in misery back in Tressa. “The thing looks like Robin?”
“And sometimes Hansel. I don't know what he looks like now. Can't see.”
It's not a good sign that this woman - a witch, most likely - has what sounds like shape-shifting at her disposal. That makes her powerful, and Rapunzel is already in enough danger being out here.
Briefly, guilt builds in my chest. I never intended for her to be hurt when I brought her outside the walls of Tressa. There was no real plan, just a lot of chaos. Now I’m trying to figure out what to do with her, and abandoning her in Sherwood is out of the question.
I look down at my hands, testing the shadows. I can probably get Rapunzel out, and what's left of Gretel's brother, but I'll burn through my magic again and Modred and the rest of the spirits won't be able to pass on.
Maybe Raymundo will sense so much death that he will head this way. He hasn't been stabbed by magic gold recently. Perhaps his magic is stronger.
“Show me,” I urge Gretel, and she quickens her pace. The sooner I find Rapunzel, the sooner we can leave this place.