Longing

Chapter Eight

There was a swarm of five-foot tall faefolk at Mustang's Township High School. As the students (Kendo included) hopped off the bus, they looked upon the unclothed, mantis-winged, sticks-for-a-body and holes-for-eyes faefolk, dumbfounded. Then they immediately ran for the hills that poked out behind the football field. Kendo, instead of following the herd, walked straight up to the grinning, pointy-eared, crimson-skinned fae who was hovering right by the school's entrance and demanded an explanation.

The teachers stood in awe. Some were slapping themselves; others were pacing back and forth like nervous chickens and still others were mumbling to themselves, trying to decide whether or not they needed therapy or a CAT scan. And then there was the infamous Mr. Browning who was staring at the multicolored faefolk like they were a perfect example of abstract beauty to force on his new art appreciation class. (He also taught at University during the summer and constantly riled over the complete and utter incompetence of high school students. He was responsible for many a failed dropout and even more student parking regulations.) The faefolk were doing a kind of pacing themselves, flying back and forth and up and down around the school's perimeter. Each of them looked like a hunting griffon, crouched but suspended in the air waiting to dive at their prey. Kendo had seen a griffon in Creature's Court. He remembered Enkaiein's polite nod and the griffon's graceful bow in return. He decided he liked griffons better than whatever these things were.

Kendo crossed his arms and stared down that red fae like a mudslide wouldn't move him and rephrased his question, "What are you doing in the human world? Aren't you people supposed to be hanging around Creature's Court?"

Naked but for her black pearl necklace, the fae twitched more than fluttered backward. She was just slightly taller than Kendo and, like the rest of the faefolk, had skin made of intertwined tapering twigs. In her case, the twigs were red. Others had yellow or blue or even multicolored weavings for skin that crisscrossed all the way down their bellies and back, where their spiral patterned wings burst out from underneath the folds. They looked like dyed wicker baskets. The red one hissed at Kendo, "You! You murder our Frock!"

Glancing at the faefolk crowding around him, Kendo said, voice like ice, "Frock deserved it."

A collective hiss enveloped the faefolk before their red leader responded, "You human. You filthy! You do not decide our Frock's fate. We decide! We say when our Frock gets murder!" Her voice was a breathy, angry cat-whisper.

"Well Frock's dead. Get over it." Kendo said, sounding bored. He was so tired of all this monster shit.

Another collective fricative and Kendo found himself sandwiched in the arms of a burly green fae from behind. Of course, not a single teacher moved to help. They were all too busy trying to decide whether or not they were insane. All the students had fled, leaving Kendo with only himself to rely on. Well, he was used to that at least. Dropping down so fast the faefolk barely saw him move, Kendo slipped out of the fae's grip, plunged through the swarm just as he and Melanie had scrambled through Creature's Court, and shed his jeans jacket (which frankly didn't look nearly as good as his old leather one, and was uncomfortable and itchy) to raise his guard a few yards out of reach.

"This human feisty," one fae said.

Then they all charged, buzzing toward Kendo in a cloud that, because their skin was made of woven twigs, looked much like an oversized, multicolored tumbleweed. When Kendo had crushed Frock, Frock's joints cracked out first, and that's what he aimed for with these things. They attacked like any massive bug their size would, with sharp stinging motions from every angle they could find. Kendo managed not to get too banged up and countered by crushing every elbow, knee, and shoulder he could under his foot or his elbow, depending on where the attacks were coming from. The faefolk's limbs were lanky and fragile and Kendo could easily split some of them in half, leaving each fae crumpled on the ground sans their right forearm or their left shin or wailing in agony over a dislocated, bent wing. None of them bled; instead their arms and legs broke apart like ripped seams, splintering and unweaving themselves as they disconnected from their bodies. The faefolk doubled back, slashing and biting more frantically now, and caught Kendo off-guard in his momentary exhaustion.