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Chapter 10 – The Instinct

Aurora stood like a statue. She gasped, but she did not scream.

Kinsale flew across the room. She stopped a short distance from Zalia and Aurora and brandished her staff. "Hello, Aurora," she said evenly. "I'd introduce you, but Mistress Zalia was just leaving."

Zalia smiled and Kinsale's heart began to pound. "You know, I could just return the girl to Felicity's friends for you. Might save you more trouble than you know."

"If you do, you'll bring my wrath and Maleficent's down on your head," Kinsale replied. "Besides, I suspect they want her in one piece."

"You wanna tell me where your fairy friend is keeping herself?" Zalia snarled into Aurora's ear. Aurora squeezed her eyes shut. "She using you as bait? Come on, you can tell me! I'm on your side!" Aurora shook her head.

Zalia had completely lost focus—she continued to whisper threats and questions into Aurora's ear, eyes half-shut. Kinsale silently disarmed her and physically threw her off of Aurora, who immediately clung to Kinsale.

"You're mad, Kinsale," said Zalia once she had regained her footing. "I'll see to it that you pay for helping that fiend."

"Begone!" Kinsale cried, and with a wave of her staff, Zalia went flying through the front door, which slammed behind her.

Kinsale looked down at Aurora, whose trembling arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. She shifted awkwardly and threw down her staff so that she could return the embrace. "It's all right, dear," she whispered. "She's gone now."

Aurora did not move, and her trembling did not cease. Kinsale gently stroked Aurora's hair and tried again. "I am terribly sorry about that. One must be very cautious around good fairies these days."

Aurora showed no sign of even having heard her. Kinsale tilted her head and placed a hand gently under Aurora's chin. "Aurora, what's happened?" she asked. Aurora finally looked up at Kinsale, her violet blue eyes still shining with fear. Kinsale gently wiped away her tears and smoothed her hair. "There, there," she said. "You're safe."

The fear in Aurora's eyes did not lessen, but she took several deep breaths and prepared to speak. "I'm sorry," said Aurora quietly. "I've had a rather frightening day."

"Come, come, have a seat!" said Kinsale, incredibly relieved. "I'll make you some tea." She escorted Aurora to the nearest tea table and conjured up her best cup of chamomile. Aurora thanked her quietly and took a few long sips. Kinsale watched her carefully. She wanted to ask again what had happened, but she hoped that Aurora might be more inclined to talk when she had calmed down.

And indeed, Aurora set her cup down and thought for a moment before she spoke. "Maleficent's bird died," she said.

"Oh," said Kinsale. "Well, that's…" Not exactly what she had been expecting. "That's too bad."

Aurora looked up at her. "I know it doesn't make sense, but it seems important in my mind," she explained. "She's lost so many people, and then she lost her bird this morning, and she seemed somehow…empty." Aurora frowned. "And then she was helping me practice magic and suddenly she wasn't helping anymore. She was frightening, and there was that emptiness in her eyes, and she had me cornered…" Rose bit her lip and thought for a moment. "She trapped me," she said, surprised. She rubbed her right wrist with her left hand, "She held me up against a wall. And then she was gone." She shook her head. "But I couldn't stay there any longer."

When Aurora fell silent, Kinsale considered what she had said. Maleficent had lost her pet raven, Diablo, yet another loss to add to the long list which had accumulated in her short lifetime, and it had somehow been more than she could bear. And then she had lashed out at Aurora. Physically. That was odd.

The curious thing about Maleficent was that you'd expect her to be the type to lash out when she was feeling vulnerable, but she seldom did. Kinsale imagined Maleficent could be very physically intimidating, especially to a small girl like Aurora. Still more bizarre, she was a very skilled fighter, with various human weapons and with her bare hands—Kinsale had personally seen her in action. However, Maleficent had cultivated these things so that physical aggression could be her last resort. She was never physical unless someone else was physical first—this applied to her friends as well as her enemies. Maleficent had grown up in a situation where a friendly tap on the shoulder was unheard of. A century ago in the Dragon Country, one had to be prepared for a fight to the death every time one went outside. Additionally, Maleficent's mother had been physically violent, which was perhaps the biggest reason that Maleficent was not.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to use magic," said Aurora, her voice still unnervingly neutral. "Not when it counts. I couldn't do as Maleficent asked and I couldn't save myself just now."

"Nonsense—you've only been training for a few months," Kinsale murmured, still somewhat distracted by her thoughts. Do as Maleficent asked…this situation was perplexing.

"Why would she…? I mean, she's done a lot of unpleasant things, but she's never threatened me like that before."

Kinsale took a sip of her tea before she answered. "I wish I knew."

"Am I mad, thinking that this is unusual?" Aurora asked no one in particular. Her shoulders sagged. "There was a time not so long ago when she wanted me to die. Perhaps it was stupid of me to think that had changed."

"You're not mad, Aurora," Kinsale replied. "If you want my opinion, I don't think she had it in her to kill you even before you saved her life. She certainly wouldn't now. I imagine she's frightened, with this rumour going around that she's stronger than the Chains of Avasina, but it still makes no sense that she'd take it out on you."

While Kinsale continued to consider various scenarios which could have led to bizarre behavior on the part of her friend, Aurora spoke once more, "Who is Zalia?"

"A good fairy from the northern part of the Desert Lands," said Kinsale, glad to have a simple answer to something. "Her older sister is very high in Mistress Sara's ranks."

"Did she come to tell you something, or are you friends?" asked Aurora, something of an edge in her voice.

Kinsale sighed. "You know, even a decade ago I would have said we were friends. No, she came to tell me that Sara is plotting against my species, which of course I already knew."

Aurora bit her lip and thought for a moment. "Soon?" she asked quietly.

Kinsale took a minute to study Aurora. She looked as though she hadn't had a decent night of sleep in ages, and there was a certain sadness in her eyes. Kinsale had seen a trace of it before, but at the time, it had been overshadowed by Aurora's curiosity and thirst for adventure. Much had befallen Aurora, but at that time, the princess had just taken action against her fate. Kinsale wondered whether Aurora knew what would befall her if she continued to keep company with wicked fairies.

"That depends upon your definition of soon," Kinsale said carefully. "Then again, perhaps it's already begun."

"Maleficent made it sound like there was…" she swallowed and averted her eyes, "more time. Time for me to become a sorceress, even."

"Ah," Kinsale frowned. What in Hell's name was Maleficent playing at? "Well, there's certainly that." She could think of nothing else to say, and so they sat in silence for several minutes.

"I meant to ask you…" Aurora said at last. "What were you going to suggest I say to her? Do you remember?"

"Oh, that…" Kinsale was really rather glad she hadn't imparted that bit of wisdom. "It's not important."

"Please, tell me? I just…" she began to fidget with her dress "I want to know if it's something I could have avoided."

"Oh, no," Kinsale said quickly. "This wasn't your fault, Aurora. You must know that."

"No, I…I know that….but I'd still like to know."

"I really…" Kinsale wanted to deny her, but she realized there would be little point in it. She imagined the princess had spent a great deal of time being denied information for her own protection. "Well, it's as you said: Maleficent has lost a great deal of people in her lifetime. She's always been a bit…prickly, shall we say?...when anyone tried to reach out to her. I suspect she tried so hard to keep you at arm's length because she knew sooner or later you wouldn't need her anymore. Do you follow me?"

"Not really," said Aurora.

Kinsale thought for a moment, then tried again, "If she could convince herself that you were only using her for protection and knowledge, she wouldn't feel the loss so keenly when you inevitably left."

"But I wouldn't have left if she hadn't been so deliberately frightening!" Aurora shook her head. "And I still don't understand—what was your advice going to be?"

"You're getting a bit ahead of me," Kinsale said with a smile. "What I just told you was the information on which I based my intended advice half a year ago. I was going to say that you should tell her something to the effect of…while you were grateful for her protection, you also thought of her as a friend, and that you did not intend to break contact with her once your circumstances changed."

"Tell her that I wasn't going to leave her. But then I did," Aurora echoed, looking quite stricken.

"No, no, you were right to leave!" Kinsale clarified, reaching out to touch Aurora's arm. "Maleficent had no right to make you feel unsafe."

Aurora regarded her outstretched hand with surprise. "I did tell her the first bit, actually," she said, directing her speech at Kinsale's hand on her arm. "Yesterday. And she seemed to believe me. Glad I didn't guess at the other half of your suggestion."

"Aurora, you mustn't blame yourself."

"I suppose this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened. Perhaps that's why she found it so hard to believe that I could possibly enjoy her company."

"Aurora! Listen to me!"

Aurora looked up, wide-eyed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know it isn't my fault. Still, I can't help but feel that she behaved oddly. There's quite a difference between her usual prickly behavior and what happened today. Don't you think so?"

Kinsale nodded, "I do. It's very unlike her. But it's not your responsibility to figure it out if it puts you in any kind of danger, do you understand me?"

Aurora nodded silently.

"Now, how about you tell me what brought you here calmly and without spiraling into self-loathing, hmm?" Kinsale raised one eyebrow pointedly and Aurora rewarded her with a small, embarrassed smile.

"This morning…it seems so long ago, but it was this morning…we went to the Forbidden Mountains. She went to try to revive her bird and I sat in her library and waited. She came in, told me her bird was dead, and then we went home because she had promised me she would test me on my magic. I told her she didn't need to if she was mourning her bird, but it….I don't know, it seemed like maybe she didn't want to dwell on it."

Kinsale nodded. Denial sounded about right.

Aurora thought for a moment, "She had been throwing spells for me to block for…I don't know, a long time. Then suddenly she stopped and started walking toward me, saying something about people thinking that magic would be powerless if they got close enough to me."

Also classic Maleficent.

"Then suddenly she had me cornered," Aurora continued, becoming distressed as she recounted the tale. Kinsale took her hand. "And then she caught my wrists in one hand and held me against the wall with the other. And she told me to push her away." Aurora looked up, "Push Maleficent away! There's no way I could have! But she kept telling me to push her away, I kept saying I couldn't, I begged her to stop, and then she was suddenly just…gone." Aurora frowned and shook her head, "Does that make any sense to you?"

Kinsale squeezed Aurora's hand as she thought. "I'd like to reassure you that she wasn't actually lying to you," she said. "If someone without magic ever does try to restrain you, you can easily overpower even the strongest of men with your magic."

"Oh," said Aurora simply. She bit her lip.

"But there's no way you could have learned how to do that under such strenuous circumstances," Kinsale quickly amended. "I only tell you that so you won't fear you've misjudged Maleficent. And of course because it's a useful skill to have. What was I saying? Misjudged Maleficent. Oh yes, I…I am trying very hard to be objective here, Aurora, but Maleficent has been my friend for nearly a century. I want very badly to believe that there was some reason for what she did to you, but I don't want to sound like I'm excusing her behavior. Do you understand?"

Aurora nodded and gave her a rueful smile, "I want to believe it as much as you do."

Kinsale patted Aurora's cheek and smiled. "So tell me, how is it you got here?"

Aurora pursed her lips, "When I realized Maleficent had left, I went upstairs to my room and there was a book in the middle of my bed that had the spell for Transporting Yourself Elsewhere. I…well, I didn't know of anywhere else I could go."

"Oh, Aurora, I hope you know you're always welcome here!" Kinsale assured her. "I am relieved to hear that the spell worked for you, though. The first time I tried that one, I left one of my arms on the other side of the room."

Aurora cringed.

"Sorry. Too much information," Kinsale felt herself beginning to ramble as her thoughts ran wild. "Anyway, that's a bit of a relief, really. It sounds like Maleficent just wanted to scare you away for some reason. Her methods are rather helter-skelter, just hoping you'd figure out her whimsical little riddle and end up somewhere safe and in one piece, but it's a bit less damning than actually intending to harm you."

"So she doesn't just hate me?" Aurora asked meekly.

Kinsale looked at her, surprised. She hadn't actually been paying too much attention to the words coming out of her mouth, and she hoped that she wasn't making light of what was most certainly a grievous error on the part of her friend. Still, she knew she could answer at least this question with absolute certainty. "Of course not!" she replied, choosing her next words far more carefully. "She's a troubled person, Aurora. She just…doesn't express her affection in ways that are easy to understand. Or, you know…acceptable."

Aurora looked down at her hand in Kinsale's and smiled. "You're very good at being comforting," she said. "I hope you won't think me rude, but I have no way of knowing how old you are. Do you have children? I can't help but think what a good mother you would make."

Kinsale took a long sip of her tea before she replied. "Thank you, Aurora," she said. "No, I don't have any children. For future reference, most fairies don't mind being asked about their age, particularly because I'm given to understand that it's next to impossible for a human to make even a rough estimate. Though I've never had the opportunity to ask a human before—how old would you say I am, just looking at me?" Kinsale knew she had been babbling again, but Aurora seemed too tired to have noticed.

She shrugged, "Twenty-something?" Kinsale laughed and Aurora blushed.

"What a compliment!" said Kinsale. "How old do you think Maleficent is?"

"When I first saw her, I thought she was around thirty."

Kinsale chuckled, "You thought I was younger than Maleficent?"

Aurora fidgeted with her dress. "Well, it all became very confusing when I learned of all of the things you had both done in your lives. And Maleficent told me that you were already very famous by the time she met you."

Kinsale raised an eyebrow, "She told you how we met?"

"Vaguely," Aurora replied. "She was…in hiding or something? And you invited her to a party?"

"My," said Kinsale, feeling a wave of conflicting emotions. "You know, it's impressive," she said, in an attempt to be light-hearted, "Maleficent managed to tell you how we met and still divulge absolutely nothing about herself."

Aurora gave a small, half-hearted chuckle. "She's quite good at that. Why—is there something important that she left out?"

Kinsale smiled warmly. Aurora had had enough surprises for one day. "I'll tell you another time," she said. "You could use a good night's sleep. You're of course welcome to stay here for as long as you like," she offered hopefully. Kinsale had lived alone for almost a century now, and with the climate what it was between fairies, she didn't think it wise to throw large parties anymore. "As you've witnessed, I've been plagued by some rather ungracious guests of late, but I assure you I'm more than equipped to keep you out of harm's way."

"Oh, thank you, Kinsale! You're certain I won't be too much of a burden?"

Kinsale grinned. "A burden? Nonsense! I'd be thrilled to have the company, really." She stood and cleared away the tea. "You can stay in the guest room. I'd prefer you lock it with your handprint if you don't mind, just in case. Do you know how?" Aurora shook her head. "I'll show you—we'll stop by the library and add your handprint to that door. All the extra security is a bit irritating, but one can't be too careful these days. And I'll of course be happy to help you with your magic if you feel up to it again soon."

Kinsale led Aurora upstairs, showed her the new lock on the library—well, not new so much as never-been-used-so-frequently—and then showed her how to lock the guest room in the same way. "Come and find me when you wake if you'd like," said Kinsale as she conjured up and arranged some hygiene necessities for her human guest. "You're of course welcome anywhere in my home, and the gardens outside are quite safe. I only hope the stone wall doesn't make you feel caged in."

Aurora laughed—it was a tired, hoarse sound, but genuine and relaxed. "It would take more than stone walls to make me feel caged in," she said.

Kinsale could not bring herself to return Aurora's smile. "Well," she began with no idea how she would finish the thought, reaching out and squeezing Aurora's shoulder. "If you need anything, I'll be up a bit longer. My room is at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, Kinsale," said Aurora. "I can't thank you enough."

Kinsale smiled and waved her hand, "Nonsense. You're the one doing me a favour. You'll realize that in a few days when I've talked your ear off." She winked and made to leave.

"Kinsale?"

"Yes, dear?"

"How old are you?"

"Three hundred and ninety-four." She waited for a response, but the only one she received was stunned silence. "Sweet dreams, Aurora."

"Good night," Aurora murmured.

Kinsale closed the door to the guest room behind her and went upstairs. She had always loved the large room that served as the third floor of her house, because it had a very large window from which she could see out but no one could see in. She did most of her writing up here, though she hadn't done any lately. She was too ill at ease.

Perhaps with another person around she would feel better. Kinsale did not do well alone, and Aurora might do well with a lot of attention.

The sky was that lovely shade of deep blue which occurred just after the sun had set. The moon was waxing—it would be full within a week or two. "Hestia," Kinsale whispered into the night.

The peach-coloured dove called Hestia cooed her reply before appearing promptly at the window. Kinsale conjured up some seeds for her and then went to her writing desk. She took up a bit of parchment and wrote a simple message.

She's here.

I hope you have a very good explanation for what you've done.

I'm very sorry to hear about Diablo.

With love,
Kinsale

"Ladies?" called Felicity's youngest sister, early in the morning as was her custom. "You've received word from the Eastern King!"

Fauna emerged half-awake from her bedroom to find the suite deserted. Hesitantly, she answered the door and took the letter. "Thank you, Charity," she said. "How are you today?"

Charity, who looked much like Felicity, only smaller and with brown eyes, smiled insincerely. "Very well, thank you. There are carrier pigeons upstairs awaiting your reply. Good day to you."

Fauna was fairly certain that Charity did not remember her name. "Good day."

She closed the door and gazed at the letter marked with King Stefan's seal. She knew she ought to wait for her sisters to get back from wherever it was they had gone, and she knew Flora would be quite upset with her if she opened it first, but she didn't see the harm. She was certain she knew what the letter was about—she was surprised it hadn't come sooner—and she hoped Flora felt the same way.

Mistresses Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather,

I have not received word from you regarding the search for the Princess Aurora, and for the Evil One responsible for her disappearance. I trust that you are all focused upon the goal of bringing my daughter home and bringing the Evil One to justice; however, I am writing to request an update regarding your travels so far, your current location, your future plans, and any relevant information you might have obtained since last we spoke.

In addition, I require the services of a Counsel to aid in our plans to unite with the Kingdom of the North. I trust that you are all equally qualified to do so and therefore request the services of the one of you who is least vital to the goal of finding and returning Princess Aurora to the Kingdom of the East, and to finding and destroying the Evil One responsible for her disappearance. However, if you believe it is necessary that all three of you should continue the search, I will not object.

I await your prompt response.

Kind regards,

King Stefan of the East

Fauna's five hundred and forty-two years of life had been, for the most part, an endless expanse of grey drudgery. She had spent most of her youth apologizing, feeling guilty for her existence and the trouble it seemed to cause people. She had spent most of her adulthood agreeing with her sisters to avoid conflict, to avoid change, to avoid anything at all. In the very heart of her dull, dismal, grey canvas of existence had been a splash of blinding colour, painfully beautiful in its garishness. Fauna had found that to live fully was to know anguish, and she had decided to resign herself to what was ostensibly her fate: to keep more than simple peace. Fauna's role in this world for nearly five hundred years now had been to maintain absolute stasis.

Had this whole mess never have happened, she would have fulfilled her role admirably. Maleficent would have been no more, Rose would have married Prince Philip, and the United Kingdoms of North and East would have declared a Golden Age of Prosperity—the end of that menace known as the Evil One, Mistress Maleficent. In all probability, that Golden Age would have lasted for the rest of Fauna's life. Fauna and her sisters might never have known that there was a war brewing just outside the borders of their land.

As it stood, however, they knew. And Flora and Merryweather seemed utterly captivated by Mistress Sara's notion of a world without wicked fairies, and wholly in favour of whatever gruesome means were required to secure such a paradise.

Fauna, on the other hand, felt a peculiar sensation which was the combination of a sinking in her stomach and a growing certainty in her heart: she had to do something.

What exactly it was that she, a fairy with limited power and absolutely no clout with anyone, was going to do about anything was a detail which still eluded her. But Fauna had lived for half a millennium standing idly by and doing nothing. She somehow knew that if she felt she must act, she must act in whatever fashion she could think of.

Flora and Merryweather, who had been engaged in a meeting with Felicity for which they hadn't bothered to awaken Fauna (for she had been awfully finicky about the whole matter for whatever reason), returned about two hours after sunrise to quite a surprise. Fauna was nowhere to be found. In her place, she left the letter from King Stefan and a note of her own.

Flora, Merryweather,

I've gone to serve as Counsel to King Stefan. I thought it would be obvious that I'm the least useful in our current endeavors, and I didn't want to waste any time in departing. I already responded with details of our search and an estimation of my arrival date, so there's no need to worry about that. Please keep me posted on your endeavours and do be sure to keep the King posted on news of the princess.

Love,
Fauna

Mistress Zenovia was not much of a "fairies" fairy. She was a scholar, a writer, a devoted practitioner of her craft. Not only did she have little time for idle prattle with young fairies digging for compliments or advice, she had precious little patience for it. She most certainly did not have time for all of this mail.

Zenovia received mail once weekly, at sunrise on Monday morning. She had long since enchanted a flock of owls to intercept any mail she might receive at any less agreeable time, to be delivered to her at her convenience. Unfortunately, the owls were not very good at guessing what was worth delivering and what was utter nonsense.

This week, in addition to two books she had ordered and a brief note from her niece, she had received all of three seemingly extraneous correspondences. One was from Mistress Kinsale of the Valley, who was prone to nonsense. Another was from Mistress Sara of the Sea, who was not. The third was from Mistress Joy of the Desert, who harboured an inexplicable fondness for humour, but who generally kept her correspondences mercifully to the point.

Zenovia considered tossing Kinsale's letter without reading it, or at the very least reading it first to get it over with, but she imagined Kinsale was well aware of Zenovia's feelings toward her and would not contact her simply to catch up.

She opted instead for Sara's letter. Words did not quite do justice to Zenovia's feelings toward Sara. A few centuries ago, Sara had been a mere annoyance, a precocious young thing who saw fit to put an end by any means necessary to a wicked fairy thousands of years her senior out of some deluded sense of heroism. Now, however, she was the bane of every wicked fairy's existence. She had somehow come upon the idea that the world would be a perfect place without any wicked fairies at all and had spent the past century or so gathering zealous followers to attempt to wipe an entire species out of existence because she felt that the universe would be more pleasing to her that way.

Zenovia despised Sara and everyone and everything associated with her. Unfortunately, she was too powerful to be ignored, and with this in mind, Zenovia tore open her letter first.

Mistress Zenovia,

I hope this letter finds you well.

It has come to my attention that a fellow Wicked Fairy and a former acquaintance of yours has become quite the menace to society, hers and that of the world at large. Mistress Maleficent of the Eastern Kingdom recently used magic while imprisoned by the Chains of Avasina in order to free herself, and she took the young princess with her as a hostage.

The situation is urgent. The Good Fairies of the East are not well-connected and they were unaware of the ramifications of Maleficent's advanced magical power. I request in the interest of the Eastern Royals that you locate your pupil and rescue the princess if she is still alive. I would hate for an innocent girl to be caught in the crossfire of Maleficent's punishment.

Regards,
Sara

Zenovia chuckled mirthlessly to herself. That letter translated roughly to "do as I say or I'll have you killed in the most agonizing way possible, as opposed to the painless death you'll experience if you comply." She ripped the letter neatly in two and set the two halves on fire.

Kinsale's note was riddled with senseless pleasantries, but the gist of it was in the fourth paragraph.

"I am writing you because I feel that this conflict with Mistress Sara is coming to a head, and I believe that it may be related to Maleficent of the Dragon Country. Maleficent recently ran into some trouble in the Eastern Kingdom. She was Chained, but the kind-hearted princess agreed to set her free in exchange for her own freedom. It seems there has been a misunderstanding regarding how Maleficent's freedom was obtained, and Maleficent now finds herself at a bit of a loss for what to do. I hoped that I might appeal to you as her former teacher and friend and ask if you have any ideas on how to rectify this situation. Your help would be…" on and on and on. Zenovia was glad Kinsale had never written any magic books—she wouldn't have been able to stomach them.

Two notes from two very different people, and they both had one thing in common: Maleficent.

Now, Zenovia was rather fond of Maleficent. Maleficent had, at a very young age, proven her worth as a sorceress, and Zenovia had agreed to train her for a time. Zenovia found her to be talented, intelligent, and a no-nonsense sort of person. Maleficent's friendship with a person like Kinsale struck her as bizarre, but then again, Maleficent had been extremely young and ostensibly friendless the last time they interacted. Joy's note was brief, as expected.

Zenovia,

You've probably heard by now that Maleficent is in a bit of a pickle. I have a theory I'd like to tell you about in person. I know you're busy, but this is very important. Can we meet soon?

Joy

Three letters! Three! All about Maleficent!

Well, Zenovia was most certainly going to find Maleficent, but Sara was madder than a hatter if she thought Zenovia would play along with her precious little world domination scheme. Zenovia was older and smarter than anyone in Sara's employ. If Sara thought she could just turn her nose up at an entire race of wicked fairies and say that the world would be better off without them, she deserved what was coming to her. Zenovia took up a bit of parchment and settled in to write exponentially more letters than she had in ages.