Mary-Cade Mandus - Skin Deep

Filch opened an eye. Voices drifted up from below; the words faint and too muffled to make out. It had taken some time and maneuvering but he'd finally managed to construct a passable nest and now there were voices beneath the tree denying him sleep. He shifted irritably upon the cushion of leaves, attempting to find that malleable spot again and slip back into unconsciousness. But it wasn't to be; the voices did not continue on their way.

Resignedly he got up and trudged to the edge of the limb. The sleep from which he’d been roused had been induced by the emotional drubbing he’d undergone earlier that day so, mind and senses weary and numb, it had not yet occurred to him that the only voices that would be in the forest were those he knew. Lying upon his belly he peered over. It was difficult to see past the dense foliage but after some jockeying he managed a glimpse of two figures. His eyes welled and he let out a small moan of loss when recognition came.

Although every fiber of his being yearned to call out, to rejoin, belong again, guilt and ignominy were formidable shackles and so he yielded sorrowfully to their authority and maintained his silence.

He adored Mirella, having spent the last six years as her allotted shadow and was quite fond of Crispin, too, holding no grudge even if the human had brought about his self- imposed banishment. So, despite his troubles, the sight of the two together, their arms entwined and faces animated by excitement, filled him with bittersweet happiness.

It suddenly occurred to him that they were awfully far afield and he was pondering the reason when a third figure stepped into view. His heart flip-flopped. Alarm dispersed any remnants of sleep and, scampering nimbly up the trunk to a higher vantage point, he anxiously scouted the surrounding terrain. But no other familiar figures appeared within the vicinity to alleviate his apprehension. Filch chewed his bottom lip and hopped agitatedly back and forth upon his perch. Perhaps, distracted by each other, Crispin and Mirella were unaware of how far they’d ventured. But that didn’t explain Amadeus’ inclusion in their tryst.

After a moment’s hesitation, he swiftly and silently descended to a branch about ten feet above their heads, within earshot but still out of sight. Fortunately the breeze was blowing toward the tree, deflecting his scent from Amadeus’ keen nose.

Crispin and Mirella had ceased their conversation and were watching Amadeus intently. Facing the pool, the boy stood with his right arm outstretched as though in salute, a shimmering verdant luminosity emanating from his clenched fingers. Despite the risk, Filch moved down a branch, mesmerized by the jewel-like glint.

The light from the keystone pulsed and a peculiar sound commenced, rather like the gurgle made by liquid pouring from a spout. Amadeus remained upon the pool’s edge but Crispin and Mirella fell back gasping, while Filch cowered against the tree’s bole. The pool’s far side had begun to lift and tilt until it stood perpendicular, straight and still, poised upon the grass like a magician’s coin. Only then did Amadeus move back to join the astonished couple. The keystone’s lustrous glow was now dull and leaden as pewter, the exact tint of the “pool’s” stagnant surface.

Steadily, the “pool” began to spin, gathering momentum with each rotation yet, producing no sound and generating no wind. When nothing of its form could be discerned but a grayish, grainy smudge upon the air, Amadeus stepped unhesitatingly forward, urging the humans to follow.

As Mirella moved eagerly toward the threshold, Crispin grasped hold of her sleeve, jerking her back. Startled she stared up at him in annoyance; in the foreground Amadeus issued an impatient yowl. Crispin wasn’t looking at her, instead his head was cocked and his eyes narrowed and unfocused. Forgetting everything else, she worriedly placed a palm upon his cheek. He grimaced, shaking his head, not to rebuke her touch but as one might when wishing to deny the whispers of conscience or to be rid of the effects of an intoxicating brew.

Amadeus sprang forward, shaking her shoulder. When she turned he pointed urgently toward the awaiting portal. Although longing to step through and out of the Wilderness, her concern for Crispin overrode her desire to leave and she shook her head, shrugged the boy’s hand off and returned her attention to the man.

Taking matters into his own hands, Amadeus crossed unnoticed behind the couple. Desperation lent him strength and the violent shove he delivered to Crispin’s back threw the man forward, knocking him into Mirella and propelling them both through the portal.