Aurora Wolf

Icarus and the Night-Elves

by

Michael Panush

Mist surrounded Plump’s End like a funerary shroud, clinging to all the small buildings and the dirt roads. There were no people on the streets of the country village, and the doors of the cottages and shops were double-bolted and shut, as if a plague of thieves had befallen the city.

Screams cut through the mist, echoing across the muddy streets, the cottages, and the untended fields. But morning was still better than the night. For weeks, the fearful hooves of nightmares trampled every sleeping mind in the town. There were no exceptions. Night after night after night, men, women and children all trembled in their beds from the dreadful visions that flooded their minds as soon as their eyes closed.

Twelve-year-old Felix Hawthorne brushed the mud from his waistcoat, breeches and stockings as he paused before the Fox and Rooster. The boy glanced up at the inn’s sagging roof and peeling paint. Reluctant, he entered the squatting two-story structure.

Having arrived the night before, he was already nervous to the point of terror. He was the apprentice to Dr. Icarus Swift, the celebrated natural philosopher, master sorcerer, alchemist, prognosticator, occultist and magician. It was his first day and it was not going well, he decided while climbing the creaking stairs. 

 “My master will make it well,” he whispered to himself as he entered Swift’s room on the second floor. “For the town’s sake, he must.”

Lying in his bed, Swift guzzled his morning glass of whiskey like it was water. “Remove my chamber pot,” he barked to his new apprentice.

Handling the filthy bronze jar with care he plodded back down the stairs. 

As Felix dumped the putrid contents of the chamber pot into the gutter, he saw a gaggle of the town’s leading citizens approach the inn. The men swayed with exhaustion. Their fine clothes could not cover the fatigue and dark circles under their eyes. 

Spotting Felix, the fattest of the men raised his cane. “Here now, boy,” he growled. “Do you know that magician, Icarus Swift?”

“Indeed, sir, I do,” Felix answered politely, his chest swelling. “I am his apprentice.”

The town elders gave Felix a thorough looking over. Yes, he watched them scrutinize his small stature and paleness, thin pointed nose and straight black hair that glistened.  Uncomfortable under their eyes, he fidgeted from one foot to the other. Felix knew that it was his ears that had captured their attention. They were curiously large, ending in narrow points, like the tips of spears.

“Well, boy,” growled the Lord Mayor of Plump’s End, bustling forward to shove Felix ahead into the inn. “Go tell the Master Doctor that I’ve come calling. Fetch him quickly, if one as small and slight as you can manage to haul himself up the stairs.”

The portly fellow scratched his nose with a stubby finger. Taking a pompous stance he declared to his audience. “That drunkard has taken our money and yet we continue to suffer. The night terrors persist! I can endure it no longer!”

Just then, Master Doctor Icarus Swift limped down the rickety staircase, slowed by his clubfoot. The whole room went silent during his desent. Disheveled and shabby, he paused at the bottom of the landing. A silken white shirt hung open at his throat, with a black cloak thrown around his shoulders and a rapier slung from his belt.

He leaned on his ebony staff, topped by a strange glassy orb composed of a lustrous black metal that shined in the dim light. Stinking of whiskey, Swift glared at them, through half-closed eyes. 

“Well?” asked the mayor not to be put off, puffing out his cheeks, like some bullfrog attempting to look dignified and outraged.

“Well what?” asked Swift.

“Sir, must I remind you?” the Lord Mayor snarled. “These terrible visitations that snatch sleep from the village must be ended! Slumber is not welcome; it is dreaded. We attempt to evade it, only to collapse from fatigue during the day. Fear rips the sanity from our minds, making us unable to tell nightmarish sleep from the waking world. We bolt our doors and load our muskets, firing at any movement. Yesterday, my own brother murdered his wife and chose suicide’s escape from these terrors.”

Icarus nodded sagely. “I am well aware of the situation.”

“We have paid you, sir, and a substantial sum at that.” The portly mayor, pointed accusingly at Swift. “And what have you done these three days, but suck down spirits? The nightmares persist, burning into the mind of every man, women and squalling babe in Plump’s End. All business in the village has come to a standstill, madness stalks the streets, and I ask you sir. Will only death bring us peace?” He paused and a shudder made his fat stomach quake. “Every night my deceased wife returns to me, God rest her poor soul. She rises up from her grave, slips her cold body into bed next to me, maggots crawling in her eyes…”

 “I have been in the throes of terrors every night of my life since boyhood,” Icarus Swift sighed sympathetically, turning to the exit. “And my days have fared little better. Lord Mayor, Gentlemen of Plump’s End, these visitations have a dark source, and I have found the answer. I am deeply troubled by these evil visitations. For the past three days, I have been researching your town’s history, consulting my spirit guides and prognosticating with the aid of assorted alchemical potions. And I have found the answer.”

“You have?” asked the Lord Mayor.  

“Indeed I have,” Icarus nodded his head and stepped out with his staff. “The key lies at the Bloody Stones.”

“That old pile of rocks?” The town father raised a bushy eyebrow, hurrying to match Icarus’ lame stride.

“Once, a sacrificial altar,” Icarus Swift clarified, waving for Felix to precede him out the door. “Many a druid’s dagger was reddened there in heathen rituals that glorified the stars, the moon and the death-hungry, pagan gods.”

The conversation was interrupted by the clatter of a rickety carriage pulled by a pair of donkeys. Built of pitted and cracked wood, the coach rattled down the muddy road on its uneven wheels. Its coachman, stout, and face wrapped with a grey scarf tucked in a great coat, sat stiffly on the perch. Stopping, the coachman turned to the natural philosopher and bowed with profound respect.

“Gentlemen,” said Icarus Swift gravely. “When I return, you will be satisfied with my work. You have the word of a master natural philosopher, and you can rely on it.”

Felix climbed into the carriage, managing a closer look at the respectful coachman.  Under his tricorn hat, the man’s head a dome of dark earth coated in green moss. His pair of shining ovoid stones in the place of eyes stared at Felix.

“What the…” gasped the apprentice.

“Pan’s Piss, boy,” growled Icarus Swift.  “Am I to grow old and die while you stand here gawking?”

“But what is…” sputtered Felix.

“That is Mr. Greenfellow, my coachman and manservant. Never mind him,” Swift grumped. “Now into the coach, and make haste.”

Climbing inside the coach, Felix sensed that he and the master doctor were not alone. A menacing shape stirred in the blackness in front of them. Reaching out his hand in the darkness, he felt fur. A bloodcurdling roar caused him to try and back out. But Swift blocked his way and shoved him to the front of the coach.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Felix made out an ursine face with a pink tongue lolling between curved fangs, brown fur, and gleaming eyes. 

“Look here, boy!” Swift hauled himself in and himself down next to the monster. “You must learn to keep your hands to yourself.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Felix stammered.

“Well, perhaps the fault is mine,” Swift replied. His next words and raised palm stopped the bear’s creeping advance. Admiral — no!” The natural philosopher reached out to rest a thin-fingered hand on the bear’s head. “Do not eat the boy, Admiral. He is my apprentice, do not eat him. You understand?”

“Yours?” Felix stammered.

“My truest friend,” Swift spoke softly, stroking Admiral’s furry back. The bear rested its pointed head in his lap, and emitted a pleased noise somewhere between a snarl and a purr. “He alone loves without reservation, and serves without call for reward. Capriciousness and villainy are as distant from his heart as the stars of the firmament from the earth.”

The coach lurched forward. Felix was nearly thrown from his seat by the sudden movement. He grabbed the edges of the bench and held fast, if only to keep from slipping closer to Admiral’s jaws.

“Tell me, boy, do you know the arrangement I made with your parents?” Icarus asked.

“I think I do, sir,” Felix replied.

“You were promised to me at birth,” said the natural philosopher. “Did your parents tell you about me.”

“There was no need, sir, everyone knows about you!” Felix fawned. “It is an honor to be your apprentice.  I even read a pamphlet about you. My father brought it back by me, from London, you see.”

“Really?” Icarus smiled. “Perhaps one of mine? The title?

 “An Account of Icarus Swift, a Natural Philosopher — One Who Ventures Into the Nocturnal Realms, Does Battle with Alarming Supernatural Evil, And Conquers It For the Good of All. I must admit, I read it over and over again,” Felix recounted.

“Hecate’s Tears!” Master Doctor Swift snarled. “Swill from the scribbling quill of some Grub Street hack, no doubt.” He paused, seemingly immersed in the folds and weaving of his dark cloak. “Yet, some say that I am a sorcerer who counts the devil amongst his friends?” He smiled ironically. “Perhaps your parents did you no favor when they apprenticed you to me?”

“They had five other children to care for, Master Doctor,” Felix explained. “I was always a little, well, different and apart from everyone else in our village.” Felix smiled nervously, recalling how many times the townsfolk laughed at him and made him feel like an outcast.

“A freak, you mean.” Icarus Swift did not meet Felix’s gaze. “An odd little anomaly, fit for nothing but to be sent away, as soon as the mewling whelp is of age, and to be forgotten and never spoken of.”

Felix shivered and gripped the edges of the bench with white knuckles. Fear and anger battled within him. Anger succeeded. “I will not stand to be insulted, Master Doctor Swift!” he objected loud enough to make Admiral raise his shaggy head. “Even if I am your apprentice, you have no need to call me names or make rude jests at my expense!” He made to stand up, and balled his hands into fists.

“Satan’s Spit! Such a spirited lad! Calm yourself, boy,” Swift said warmly. “It was that difference, that apartness that has made you the perfect choice for my apprentice. You’ll find your place here, young Felix. Of that I am certain.”

#

The carriage rolled to a slow stop in a field surrounded by thick woods.

In the center of the field, like arrow points fired down from the heavens and fixed in their target, rested the Bloody Stones. Five massive, jagged gray stones etched with runes, and wrapped round with vines that curled and weaved like searching serpents. The five pillars reached out of the dirt like the fingers of an up-thrust hand. 

Felix stepped carefully out of the carriage and in awe walked toward the tall, standing stones. After a few moments, he thought to glance around for the others. Mr. Greenfellow, the mysterious coachman, stood in front of the carriage as still as the standing stones he faced, while the two donkeys grazed peacefully in the field. Admiral rested on his haunches in the shadows of the standing stones. Meanwhile, Icarus Swift, leaning against his staff, dragged one end in the dirt to dig a wide circle about the stones.

 “A battle is coming, boy,” he called excitedly as he pointed down at the circle. “There are certain rules that must be followed if we wish to survive long enough to earn our pay. Chief amongst those is that this circle will be our greatest guardian. We must not leave it. Do you understand?”

“Why not, sir?” Felix could not help asking.

“Satan’s Spit, boy! I have no time for your foolish questions. Do as you’re told.”

Felix nodded. “Yes sir.”

“Now, you will see things tonight that will frighten you to the marrow of your bones,” Swift continued. “But you must not panic and let terror rule you. As long as we stay in the circle, and follow our plan, no harm will befall us and our foes will be dispatched before sunrise.”

“Master Doctor, who are our foes?”

“Elves, boy. Night-Elves.” Icarus returned to the circle, dragging his staff deep into the dark earth.

“I’ve heard of them,” Felix said. “Do they really exist?”

“I assure you, boy, they do. They are the Children of the Earth, the Fair Folk, who called the world home in the many years before Adam. Now they dwell in the mounds, and ponds and glens, and bring only their trickery and devilment to the race of man.” Icarus looked up to stare at Felix, like he searched the boy’s face for some wart or blemish. “And the worst of their whole hidden kingdom are the Night-Elves, who ride the minds of sleeping people along roads of fear.”

“Oh,” Felix said. “How may I help?”

Icarus handed Felix his staff. “Continue forging the circle. I have other work to do.”

Felix took the staff, put his weight against the end and continued the circle. As he worked, Icarus Swift busily placed several objects on the ground;  his rapier, with curious spiraling runes etched into the blade; a lump of silvery stone, big enough to be held by two hands; and a pair of long-barreled pistols, which Icarus proceeded to load carefully.

Wiping sweat from his eyes, Felix paused to study his master’s progress. “Master?” he asked. What are you doing?” His curiosity burned.

“The key is iron,” Master Doctor Swift answered. “First I will set iron bars in the dirt, and this stone, this lodestone, will magnetize them to fill the very air with the cold currents. Iron ball will fill these pistols, and the rapier’s blade is of the same substance, though laced with silver if other certain demonic entities are encountered.”

“Oh.” Felix returned to his digging. “And if I may ask one more question, sir?”  

“Pan’s Piss! Have you nothing inside of you but these tiresome queries?” Icarus’ head shook from side to side. “Very well. Ask.”

“It’s about Mr. Greenfellow?”

“What about him?”

“What exactly is he?”

“A fair question, I suppose. He is a homunculus, a creature of dirt, herbs, blood and other substances, given life through the application of certain otherworldly agencies.  He is the Great Work of my great grandfather, the Magus Perseus Swift, who worked in the time of Queen Bess and was known throughout the world for his skill in Natural Philosophy.”

“Amazing,” Felix whispered, staring again at the stoic, stationary Greenfellow. “You must count yourself lucky, sir, to be of such a great line.”

“Rot!” Icarus hissed. “I count myself a fool for pursuing these arts in the modern age. The natural philosophers of the past, Agrippa, Paracelsus, Dee and Kelley, they could carve men from fog, and make dwellings on the Moon. I am little more than some supernatural custodian.” He shrugged. “Alas, but such is my lot. Back to work boy, the hour grows late and the sun dims.”

Felix returned to his digging and soon completed the circle. Though his hands were dirty and his back ached, there was more work to be done. Under Dr. Swift’s instruction, he dug small holes in the edges of the circle, and set small rods of iron into them. Above them, the sun continued on its course, and the shadows grew in size and strength.

When Felix finished burying the last of the iron rods, he looked up to find that darkness had fallen over the fields. The shapes of the trees beyond were like billows of smoke, and the stars gleamed down like the baleful eyes of lurking demons, surrounding a moon as white as bone.

“Take your places,” Icarus Swift commanded, standing in the middle of the circle. “Now it will begin.” He motioned Felix to join him. The boy did so, standing in the dirt next to his master, near the crouching Admiral. Even Mr. Greenfellow walked over from the coach, taking his place with the others. 

A cold wind blew down from the heavens, making the trees swing to and fro as it whistled amongst the Bloody Stones. Master Doctor Swift came to his feet and drew out his rapier and staff. He dug the staff into the ground and held the rapier up, so that moonlight glinted off the blade. From the woods came a chorus of high-pitched shrieks, like the wailing of souls trapped in Hell.

“Dr. Swift?” Felix cried. “W-what’s happening?”

“I said no more questions, you wooden-headed boy!” Swift hissed. “The Night-Elves are here.”

Bolting from the forest, an army of impish creatures rode on powerful steeds, their Night-Mares. On legs of living shadow, their mounts were wrapped in cobwebs. Dwarfed by the size of their horses, the Night-Elves were wretched little fiends, hairless with pitch black skin, round noses and deep set, glaring eyes. They waved their long, simian arms, wiggled their pointed ears, and snapped the air with their pointed teeth.

His heart pounding, Felix felt his legs buckle despite his urge to run away.

“Do not move, Felix Hawthorne!” Icarus Swift bellowed, grabbing the boy’s shoulder.

The Night-Mares rode about the stones, and their riders laughed and hooted like a flock of cackling birds. Leaping from their horses, the Night-Elves somersaulted and cavorted, dancing jigs and reels with such wild abandon that some collapsed from dizziness.

“These fiends are the cause of the nightmare-plague,” Icarus Swift explained, drawing out the lodestone. “I do not know why they chose Plump’s End, perhaps they overheard some insult and thought it was directed at them, but there is no understanding the whims of the Fair Folk.” Tossing the stone to the ground, he added, “Only their weaknesses are known and only to the few.”

Instantly, the Night-Elves ceased their capering, forming a crazed swarm like enraged bees. Screeching and hacking through the air with their claws, the Night-Elves launched their attack on the circle.

Felix screamed in terror, his voice added to the cacophony. Admiral came to his feet and roared, while only the stolid Mr. Greenfellow seemed unaffected.

“Easy, boy!” Swift shouted to Felix, still holding the lodestone. “They can’t pierce the circle. We are quite safe!” He pointed his rapier towards the Elves, who now rolled and twitched on the ground, shrieking in utmost pain. “And see how the iron drives them mad? It is all that is harmful to them – the cold hand of man’s will forced into their very souls!”

“Yes sir!” Felix chanced to look up. “Master D-doctor Swift?” he whispered. “Look!”

Four strange beasts winged their way through the clear sky, carrying between them a litter made of human bones and cobwebs crawling with spiders. The creatures that carried the litter were insane chimeras with the horned heads of goats, the leathery wings of bats, and bristling legs of spiders. But these horrors were nothing compared to what sat in the litter, resting in a parody of regal poise.

“By St. Cyprian’s Bones!” Dr. Swift yelled out.

Felix detected fear for the first time in his master’s voice.

“The Night-King!”

It was indeed the King of the Night, and of Cold and Darkness — all the primal elements that made children cry for their mothers and men’s hearts to fill with fear. The strange monarch stood a head taller than a normal man, his body colored of the same inky skin as the smaller Elves; though a cape of cobwebs draped over his lumpy, distorted body. A pair of curling antlers, twisting and intersecting like the roots of ancient trees, grew above his tall, pointed ears. Though his eyes were hollow sockets wrapped in cobwebs and alive with wriggling grubs and crawling spiders, he still carried a sneer of command.

“Mortals!” the Night-King shouted, his voice like a wind, chilling Felix to his bones. “What do you do here? Why do you bother my children so?” Holding a human leg bone like a scepter, he pointed to the wailing, pained Night-Elves.

“Your majesty,” Icarus said boldly, raising the lodestone. “They’ve been terrorizing a nearby town! The Fair Folk, the Sidhe, should not harry man in such ways!”

“You should not presume….” the Night-King said, cutting him off. “To command us!” He leaned down and glared at Master Doctor Swift. His mouth opened, letting worms crawl out of it and slither up toward his nostrils and eye sockets like perverse, moving jewelry.

Felix’s breath caught in his throat. He looked to his master, and saw that even the Natural Philosopher seemed frightened. Admiral let out a mournful roar and curled up on the ground, covering his shaggy head with his paws.

But Icarus did not back down. He held up the lodestone. “I hold iron,” he said defiantly.

“Do you?” The Night-King hurled down his scepter. It came down like a white lightning bolt, striking the lodestone and shattering it into a thousand tiny pieces. The blow knocked Icarus to the ground. Felix ran to help him up, while the Night-Elves around the Bloody Stones ceased their writhing. Admiral growled at them and they tittered back. But the Night-Elves held their place.

“How can we hold them off now?” shouted Felix, panic in his voice. “Sir, the iron is gone!”

“It matters not!” Dr. Swift replied coolly. “As long as we remain in this circle, we cannot be harmed.” He bent down and drew out his flintlock pistols, cocking one and placing another in his belt. “And there are ways to defeat even the King of these elves. His true name, once spoken, should render him powerless and susceptible to our commands.”

“You would know my name, mortal?” the Night-King said, his laughter like the hacking call of a raven, repeated endlessly. “A pathetic conjurer such as yourself? The very idea is… mirthful.” He leaned forward on the end of his litter, kicking his talon-tipped feet in the air. “As for your circle, I cannot break it. I do not need to.”

Something grabbed Felix’s leg. He looked down at a skeletal hand thrust up from the earth, with more bursting through. The victims of the long vanished druids had returned, dozens of them rising up from under the ground to drag Icarus, Felix, Admiral and Greenfellow to Hell. Their bones were brown, broken and jagged, and their skulls were gray with dust and cracked like fallen eggshells. But they had the strength of the dead, and Felix toppled to the ground, feeling more pointed fingers of skeletal hands clutching at him.

Mr. Greenfellow swung his massive arms down against the bones, shattering them and allowing Felix to roll free. Greenfellow’s arms moved liked windmills, each blow obliterating the aged bones of the living skeletons. Another hand grabbed Felix’s arm, he swung around in alarm, but it was Icarus, urging the boy from the circle.

“Move, Felix!” Icarus shouted, dropping his staff as he limped away. He pulled Felix to the edge of the circle, Admiral running close behind.

“But the circle—”

“Forget the bloody circle!” Icarus cried. “We’re dead if we stay here, boy! Run to the woods! Now!” Behind them, Mr. Greenfellow continued to batter the skeletons, but more and more of the corpses emerged from the dirt, until Greenfellow was swallowed up by a tide of bone.

Master Doctor Icarus Swift and Felix Hawthorne ran from the Bloody Stones, Admiral loping along next to them. The Night-Elves leaped up to claw at them, laughing impishly as they danced about. The Night-Mares reared up, snorting and waving their shadow-clad legs.

Icarus held his rapier in one hand and the pistol in the other, and he struck out wildly with the iron blade. He leaned on Felix, arm and pistol draped over his shoulder. The boy gripping his master about the waist, realized that the clubfooted natural philosopher depended on his apprentice to help him run.

“Almost there, Dr. Swift!” Felix cried, clutching Icarus’s arm with his other hand helped him along. A Night-Elf danced in front of them, and Swift split the beast’s head down the middle with his sword. Black dust poured from the wound, and the Elf reeled away, squealing. Another Night-Elf danced forward, but a swipe of Admiral’s claws dispatched it.

A fierce wind struck them as they crossed the open field toward the shelter of the dark woods. Felix bent his head down and tried to stay upright, but a shrill squall made him look up. Swooping down to destroy them was one of the Night-King’s terrible, malformed servants. The beast opened its goat’s maw and reached forward with pointed, segmented legs.

“Back to the dust with you,” Icarus said, straitening up. With his elbow scraping Felix’s ear, he leveled the pistol and fired a shot into the open jaws. The iron ball erupted from the back of the flyer’s head in a shower of black dust.  Icarus slid the empty pistol in his coat, drawing his fresh gun.

Arm back over Felix’s shoulder, they reached the trees. Only then did Icarus stop and lean against an oak, gasping for breath and wiping his head with the sleeve of his silken shirt. “Satan’s spit!” he hissed. He looked up at Felix. “Run, boy. The Night-King will be on us in seconds. There is no time to spare! Run! Take Admiral with you!”

“What?” Felix jaw gaped in disbelief. “You don’t know his name?”

“No mortal may know my name,” blared the voice of the Night-King.

 Felix and Icarus turned to see the Lord of the Elves crouched on a lower bough of the tree like some grotesque bird of prey. The Night-King leapt down, his ragged cloak fluttering about him. Landing, all four limbs outstretched, he stood up before Icarus Swift. He raised a clawed hand as if to strike the Master Doctor’s defiant face. The Night-King paused. “No mortal may know my name – and still draw breath!”

“I draw breath!” Icarus proclaimed. “I call you Dawn-Hater, and Shadows-In-The-Moonlight.” His voice steadily building in volume, he continued. “I call you Child-Snatcher, and Slumber-Haunter!” He spit out the titles like they were foul oaths to be uttered in some ribald alehouse. “And with those names I bind you and burn you!”

Cringing back, claws raised in defense, the Night-King looked about as if the sky would fall on him. But a moment later, both surprised and relieved, the he laughed in glee. “Four of my names, you have spoken. Three more than any other mortal,” he said slowly. Then, his face split in a malicious grin. “I have a thousand more.”

He dove forward, claws poised to rend Icarus Swift to bloody pieces. Admiral charged, roaring to help his master. The Night-King deftly repelled the attack by raising his hand; with a flick of his wrist, he sent the tame beast flying backward.

Smiling grandly, the Night-King leapt to wrap his clawed hand about Icarus’s neck.

Felix watched in horror, shaking with fear. Yet he stood paralyzed, unable to run, or help, or even cry out. With his body immobile, he closed his eyes to block out the awful image. As he did, a more powerful vision burst into his mind, as if a dam had shattered, releasing a flood of images, words, and ideas.

In his mind’s eye, Felix saw a round face smiling warmly down at him; green-skinned and grinning merrily. There was an open bedroom window in his family’s cottage; the wood newly cut and the garden outside lay fallow. He was just a baby, looking up from a cradle. There was a buzzing of wings, and the green face vanished.

Felix’s brain reeled from a torrent of memories. Wave after wave pounded into him, until he could hardly breathe. Names started flowing into his mind. As the terrible titles erupted from his soul, an atavistic explosion echoed through his consciousness. Looking up at the Night-King, knowing what he must do to save his master and himself, Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“I call you Wind-In-The-Branches!” he shouted, and the Night-King turned to stare at him. “And I call you Chill-At-Midnight! I call you Pricker-of-Flesh and Nightshade-Grower! Star-Killer, Light-Taker, He-Who-Lurks-Forever-Behind-Closed-Doors!” The names boiled out of him like steam from a heated cauldron. “All of these, I call you, and more besides!”

Enraged by the apprentice, the Night-King tossed Icarus aside. “Traitor!” he hissed. Unhinging his jaw, gaping, he revealed a hundred tongues, each a writhing, scaly serpent. “Traitor to the Sidhe and the Fair Folk! I will rip the meat from your bones, and crush you under my heel, and even then you will not die!” He lunged forward and grabbed Felix’s arms to hold the boy up. “But first I will swallow you and you will know torment unending!”

Felix tried to think of something to say. “I hope you choke on me,” he spat out lamely.

“Then I’ll be sure to chew, traitor,” the Night-King replied.

Icarus Swift came to his feet. Drew the pistol from his belt and aimed it at the Night-King. “Unhand my apprentice,” he demanded, blasting an iron ball through the back of the Night-King’s horned head.

Collapsing from the impact, the Night-King dropped Felix to the ground. Black dust poured in torrents from the wound, which spread quickly. Before his terrible eyes dissolved, the Night-King gave Felix a final hateful glare. In seconds, the Night-King transformed to nothing but a pile of black dust, soon blown away by the wind.

An abrupt stillness wafted over the trees. Icarus Swift helped Felix to his feet. Admiral came traipsing back from the woods, growling and disheveled, but otherwise unharmed. Ailing, they limped from the forest.

The remaining Night-Elves followed the fate of their king, turning into piles of dark dust. A mound of motionless bones near the Standing Stones suddenly stirred. Mr. Greenfellow buried by the animated skeletons, thrust the pile aside.

“What happened?” Felix suddenly asked. “And what did he mean when he called me traitor?”

“Hmmm.” Icarus paused. “Let me see your hands, Felix.” He took Felix’s hands and gently turned them over to look at the boy’s palms. They were red and blistered, as if he had touched a hot stove. Felix was suddenly aware of how painfully sore they were.

“Yes,” Dr. Swift said, gently. “A delayed reaction. Have you experienced it before?”

“I have, sir.  But what causes it?”

“Iron,” Icarus replied slowly.

Felix thought carefully. Yes, he remembered the day he had helped his father shoeing their horse. He recalled the pain he felt at handling the horseshoe, like it was fresh from the forge. There were other times too, all ending in the same rash. He looked up at Icarus. “Master Doctor, what am I?”

“You saved all our lives today and you have a right to know.”

“Yes,” Felix urged. “I must.”

 “You are a changeling,” Icarus said. “The Fair Folk will steal away a human babe and leave a member of their own race to be raised in its stead. No one knows why. Felix, you are Sidhe at your core.”

“How do you know?”

 “Twelve years ago, when I passed through your village, you had just been born. The moment I saw you, I could tell that you were different,” Icarus nodded gravely. “Maybe it was your pale face or curious ears, but I knew you for what you were.”

Felix’s mind spun, the revelation striking him like a lightning bolt. “Yes…” Felix agreed. He suddenly collapsed on to the grass. He had always been an outsider, unsure of what to say, how to act, and what to do. Now it all made sense. “And that is why you made my parents pledge to make me your apprentice, when I came of age?”

“Exactly,” Icarus nodded. “I sought an elf child, and I selected you. The truth, young Felix, is that I have read about changelings, but you are the first that I ever had the pleasure to meet.”

 “And now?” Felix asked.

“That of course, is up to you.” Icarus muttered. “You may leave my service, if you wish. I’ll pay for you to return to Witling-On-The-Sea, or passage to any destination you may choose. Or you may stay with me.”

“There is nothing for me at home,” Felix replied glumly.

 “Felix, I have told the truth about you,” Icarus said, looking down at his boots. “You should know the truth about me. I am a bastard, you know,” he confessed. “The product of a secret union between my father and a housemaid. Unwanted in my father’s household, my grandfather raised me and harshly so. I am no true heir to the Swift legacy, and the Great Work of the true Natural Philosophers. Perhaps that is why I thought I needed an apprentice of your lineage. I promise to teach you everything I know, and with your powers and my knowledge, we can be a formidable duo.”

Felix looked up at Icarus and came to his feet. “You saved my life. You blasted that frightful devil in the head and destroyed him.” 

“I removed him from existence, but he will return,” Swift explained. “Creatures such as him can never die.”

“The fact remains, you saved my life. And though your manner is rough, I suppose there are far worse masters than you.” Felix rubbed the palms of his hands together, trying to stop their itching. “I will be a human, or as human as one of my kind can be. And I will be your apprentice.”

“I’m glad.” Icarus Swift nodded and smiled slowly. “Then let us repair to the carriage and hasten back to Plump’s End and our reward. I have some ointment in the carriage that may soothe those wounds. Hurry now, boy. I will not waste time waiting on you.”

The Natural Philosopher and his apprentice, accompanied by the silent homunculus and the tame bear, walked past the standing stones and returned to their carriage. Just as the sun emerged over the hills, night’s shadow faded away.

 

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