Fakir didn’t allow himself to stop and look at the crows that were once his neighbors and classmates, nor did he allow the pain in his right hand to stop him. There was just one thing that mattered at that moment: Duck.
His footsteps felt heavy, and in the unnatural darkness caused by the Raven’s release made it difficult to see the puppet that led the way, but he continued on. He was as responsible for the predicament that the girl, his friend, was in as much as Drosselmeyer. Perhaps even more responsible, since it had been his own hand that had written the story. (What point did that crazy old man have in writing through him? Was he just trying to get every last bit of tragedy he could into the story by forcing Fakir to be as useless with a pen as he was with a sword?)
He didn’t know how the story would end. He didn’t know what he could do to even achieve an ending. But as he climbed over the remains of the shattered gate, he realized there was one thing he did know--
It didn’t matter if he could write a million pages of words if he didn’t succeed in saving Duck.
Still, the lake that Uzura was leading him to seemed impossibly far away. In fact, it almost seemed like the lake was moving further away the more he ran towards it. Fakir gritted his teeth and pushed himself to run faster, mentally cursing whatever story Drosselmeyer was writing that prevented him from reaching his goal. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, and Fakir realized with horror that he could no longer see where Uzura had run off to. He was about to call her name when something hit against his face. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell exactly what, but his first thought was that it felt something like cloth, or maybe leaves. He didn’t run into a tree branch, did he? (For a brief moment, Fakir grimaced at the thought that he could be stopped by something as unthreatening as a low branch, but he pushed his embarrassment aside.) He thrust out his hands to try to find what he had run into, but he felt nothing but empty air. He took a step forward, but again he felt the odd, quick brush of something soft against his face. He could hear some sort of faint, repeated sound begin to reach his ears, but he couldn’t quite make sense of the noise. It sounded natural, like some sort of anim—
Crows! That brush he felt must have been the wings of a crow! He reached to his side to take up his sword…and then remembered that he didn’t have it with him.
Fine. It didn’t matter. The last thing he was going to do was let a few birds stop him, even if all he had to defend himself was his bare hands. He curled them into fists and rushed ahead a few steps, but the wings began to beat against his face, this time with more force. The sound in the background was starting to grow louder and louder. At first, Fakir thought it was the cawing of crows, but as the noise increased in volume he realized it started to sound a little like…
“QuackquackquackquackquackquackquackquackquackquackquackquackQUACKQUACKQUACKQUACKQUACK—“
Fakir woke up with a start, throwing his hands out to protect himself from the flurry of yellow wings striking his face. “I’m awake! I’m awake!! GET OFF!”
Duck paused, her left wing lifted in preparation for another hit, and blinked down at the boy. Fakir narrowed his bleary eyes up at her and asked “Are you done?”
The duck’s face curled into an expression that Fakir had come to recognize as a smile. “Quack,” she said simply, then hopped off his chest and fluttered ungracefully to the floor.
Fakir pushed himself up—at first using both hands, then quickly leaning onto his left when a stab of pain coursed through his right arm. He frowned down at the bandaged hand and tried to place exactly where he was.
The story had ended. Mytho—no, Prince Siegfried—had left with his Princess. And afterwards Fakir had walked back to Charon’s home and—suddenly realizing how tired he really was—flopped into his bed after pausing to kick off his shoes. And Duck…Duck was safe. She no longer had the pendant that allowed her to transform into a loud, clumsy girl or a graceful, pure-hearted Princess. But Duck was still Duck (with or without the pendant), and she was safe.
“Qua quack?”
Fakir turned towards the door and looked over at the duckling waiting in front of it. He made a guess at what she had asked and responded “Nothing.”
The look of confusion and irritation on Duck’s face gave Fakir a clue that he had guessed wrong. He tried again.
“Erm—I’m coming?”
The bird’s blue eyes lit up and she nodded, then turned and began to walk out of the room, her webbed feet hitting the wooden floor and making a slapping sound that was almost comical.
Fakir sighed. This was going to take a little getting used to. A part of him had hoped his newly-discovered powers would make it easier to communicate with her, but so far it didn’t seem to be working.
Then again…maybe he just needed to learn to listen a little better.
The duck reappeared in the doorway and let out a short series of quacks. This time, Fakir concentrated, and for a moment he almost thought he could hear the familiar voice of a certain clumsy redhead say “I thought you said you were coming!”
Fakir allowed himself to briefly smile. “I am. Be a little more patient, idiot.”
Duck made a sound that was possibly a squawking version of an ‘hmph!’ and turned to walk out the door. He pushed himself onto his feet and followed after her.
Maybe…just maybe…this wouldn’t be so hard to get used to after all.
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31_days2007-07-26 12:15 am
