Malice in Wonderland Prequel, Page 2

  She swung again and he just barely avoided being hit. “By striking down an unarmed human?!” she snarled.

  “Yes, because he stole the vorpal blade by dishonest means.”

  She unleashed a savage flurry of attacks. It took extreme effort and luck to avoid her blows—she was highly skilled.

  “I heard of the coin toss!” she said while she paused to catch her breath. The blade lowered slightly in her hands. “He won this sword that way, fair and square!” She raised her sword back up.

  He shook his head. “No, he cheated. He used a double-headed coin.”

  “Liar!” she shouted, then began attacking again.

  He wasn’t entirely successful avoiding the swings this time—one blow stuck hard against his right arm, cutting deep, rendering it useless.

  The blood ran down his arm as they stood staring at each other. “It’s true. And he killed my father dishonourably, when his eyes were closed.”

  “What kind of idiot closes his eyes on an armed foe?”

  “It was when my father handed the sword over to him. My father was bound by my dishonourable bet. I had lost the coin toss, and so he was obligated to honour the terms—he handed over the sword, but he was so overwhelmed with sorrow and shame, that he lowered his head and closed his eyes. While he was lost in his shame at my behavior, your father took advantage and beheaded him.”

  Her stance wavered. “No, he killed him in a great battle.”

  The Jabberwock huffed. “Because he said so? Because they made a poem about it that said it was so? But I was there. I saw it with my own eyes.”

  She made a half-hearted jab that he easily dodged. “I should believe a filthy lying jabberwock? If you saw it, why didn’t you stop it?”

  “I was chained to a pole because I couldn’t be trusted to watch without doing anything. I was very impulsive in those days.”

  She stood watching him, her face showed confusion as she tried to process her thoughts. She smirked. “So you watched your father lose the fight, watched him get beheaded?” She gave another half-hearted swing at him that he dodged, but then he stumbled—his arm was still bleeding profusely and he felt dizzy from the blood loss.

  He said, “They didn’t fight. I guess your father went back to his village and said he fought a heroic battle, which is why they wrote that poem about him.”

  “My father wouldn’t do that. You’re the liar.”

  No, everything the Jabberwock said was true, but could he convince her?

  “Please believe me—it’s why I killed him the way I did, because he dishonourably murdered my father, and he cheated in order to attain the vorpal blade.”

  “Ha! Cheated how?”

  “When he made the bet with me.”

  “Yes, tell me more about the bet.” She took a step back, momentarily halting the battle. “I don’t know much about it.”

  So the Jabberwock began to tell the tale, despite how ashamed he was of it. “Back then, as I said, I was impulsive. I had a gambling…problem that he took advantage of. He had a coin with his own portrait on it. He said if he flipped it and it landed on heads, he’d win the vorpal blade, which still belonged to my father, but I was almost to the age when he would give it to me.”

  “Oh, what was your prize?” she asked still holding her sword up, but it looked as if it was growing heavy in her arms despite how light vorpal blades were.

  “Hmmm?”

  “I’ve never known what you might have won in the coin toss…”

  “Oh, a magical lute that could be played without having to practice on it.”

  “Okay, so you wanted to be a musician without having to work for it and he took advantage of your gambling problem, and you lost your bet. So what?”

  “He cheated.”

  “According to you.”

  “I have proof.”

  She looked on blankly and lowered the sword tip onto the ground, resting her arms. “What proof?”

  “I still have the coin.”

  “Ha! You have a coin. So what?”

  “I’ll bring out the coin.” He slowly bent toward a chest on the ground and she tensed. “Don’t worry. Let’s say that we are on a temporary truce, okay? It would be dishonourable for me to attack you now. Jabberwock’s honour, I just want to get the coin.”

  “Yes, you jabberwocks and your honour.” She rolled her eyes, but she kept her arms down in an undefended position.

  After some rummaging, he brought out the coin—it was a novelty coin, with the head of Herbert the so-called Jabberwock Slayer etched in it and it even had a date, of five years earlier, the year that it had all occurred.

  He offered to toss it to her, but she shook her head, so all he could do was explain, once more telling the truth. “I’ll tell you how I got it. See, after he beheaded my father, he walked up to me. I wanted to attack him right then, but the chains prevented me. He brought out this coin. He said he would flip it and if it landed on tails, he would cut the chains and we would have an honourable battle.”

  “And if it landed heads?”

  “He would leave me there.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone make such a wager?”

  “You’ll see… He told me it was the same coin he’d used when he won the sword. He flipped it and it came up heads. He left the coin on the ground to mock me, then with my father’s head, he went galumphing back.”

  “Did you ever escape?” she said with a sneer.

  “Yes, I was found a few hours later and freed. And that’s when I picked up the coin and discovered he had cheated.”

  “Oh?” she said with a smirk, but she seemed less certain now.

  “Yes, because the coin is double-headed. He cheated to gain that sword you hold.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “It is the truth. I swear to it.”

  “Toss it to the ground here.” She pointed down with the sword and he tossed it down.

  She bent to look at it. “It is my father’s face, and that year, is the year of his death.” She flipped the coin over with the tip of her sword. “No, no, this is a fake.”

  “Why would I go through the trouble of that? No, it is the coin he used. That’s why, according to our code, he did not deserve an honourable death. I hunted him down and killed him, though he was unarmed, but I was unable to recover my vorpal blade. He didn’t have it upon his person.”

  She chuckled morosely. “That’s because he had it stored away. I, as his only child, inherited it. I have been training all these years, studying the art of sword wielding, studying the ways of you…jabberwocks…and your code of honour.”

  The Jabberwock didn’t like the sound of where this was going. “Please, I believe you are an honourable warrior seeking to preserve the reputation of your father. But all I have told you is the truth. You have fulfilled your duties as a daughter. Let us go our separate ways.”

  “And what about the sword?”

  “I respectfully ask that you return it to me, its rightful owner, for it was stolen from me by trickery.”

  “Well it seems we have a bit of a problem. Are you willing to let me walk out of here, taking your precious vorpal blade with me?”

  For several moments, the Jabberwock thought upon it. He sighed. “If you choose to. I tell you again, all I’ve said has been true, and I’d like you to return my blade to me, but I respect your decision, and I truly don’t wish to fight you. I…respect you.” The Jabberwock was surprised himself to hear himself say that.

  “Ha! So you are both a liar and a coward!”

  “I did not lie.”

  “Well I admit, maybe I don’t know the whole story, and perhaps my father wasn’t perfect. But he was my father, and you took him from me. The blood debt must be repayed.”

  “I will not fight you. What can I do—”

  “Oh shut up, won’t you?! We will do battle, because I have been studying your jabberwock code. And I invoke my right of child’s retribution. You killed my father s
o I challenge you to duel to the death.”

  The Jabberwock tried to hide his surprise that a human would know the ways of the jabberwock code. He tried not to be patronizing as he said, “Do you realize what you’re saying?”

  She met his eyes with a cold intense stare. “Yes, the debt shall not be settled until one of us is dead.” She raised her sword—it was her sword for now, but if he defeated her, it would become his—and she said, “Prepare to die.”

  She charged toward him with a yell and swung at his leg.

  The Jabberwock no longer had a choice. He was now bound by the code to fight her to the death. He could no longer show her any mercy.

  They squared off. The girl swung again, lightly cutting his left arm. She was highly skilled—a worthy opponent, especially with the vorpal blade, comprised of a charmed metal that easily sliced jabberwock flesh.

  But she was growing fatigued. The vorpal blade wasn’t very heavy but she was just a little girl…

  He feinted to her right. When she moved her blade to parry the blow, he moved inside and slashed her arm to the bone, severing tendons and rendering her left hand useless. As she struggled to readjust to a one-handed grip, he smacked the blade out of her hand.

  She met his gaze with a wide-eyed look of terror.

  Then with a twinge of sorrow, he impaled her with his claws and drew upward. Her torso became drenched in red.

  He withdraw his claws, and watched her, wary of any desperate last attack she might launch.

  She began to cough up blood. A look of confusion came over her face, then she looked down at her mangled body.

  Then she collapsed and was still.

  And the Jabberwock became filled with guilt. He didn’t know why he felt that way, but it was overwhelming.

  “Oh god,” he mumbled, then launched into action. He had to act fast. He felt for her pulse—there was none, and she wasn’t breathing. They had fought to the death, honourably, and the blood debt had been settled, so she was no longer his enemy.

  In a panic he tried to lift her, but his injured arm was still useless. “Oh god oh god.”

  He began dragging the girl along the ground, toward Alice’s hut.

  Laricia, daughter of Herbert the Jabberwock Slayer, opened her eyes, thinking she was awakening from her nightly sleep.

  Then she grew confused—it was bright and warm here, the middle of the day.

  She looked around and saw trees. She was in a forest, lying on a curious substance. She felt with her hands and realized she was lying on leaves.

  Then she remembered she’d fought the Jabberwock and lost. She took in a sharp gasp of breath and felt the panic surge within her.

  She felt dizzy. She touched her belly and when she pulled her hand away, her fingertips came away coated in blood.

  She sat up.

  “I should be dead,” she muttered to herself. She looked at something lying on the ground.

  It was a notepad with a message written upon it—she saw the feather quill pen a short distance away, the tip of it pointing out from the leaves.

  She had a hard time reaching the notepad without falling over—she was still tipsy.

  She had trouble focusing her eyes—the words were written in blood, she now saw.

  Written on the paper were these words: “You fulfilled your duty, for you gave your life defending his honour. Let us not fight anymore.”

  She grunted in disgust, and looked around for the vorpal sword. Of course the disgusting beast had taken it. She screamed and tore the note in half, then she shouted at the top of her lungs, hoping he was still close enough to hear: “One day, Jabberwock!…I will come for you!”

  Her voice echoed throughout the forest.

  A short distance away, the Jabberwock heard her—heard that hatred in her voice and stopped in his tracks. He lowered his head, staring at the ground, then continued walking toward his post outside the Eighth Square.

  Alice heard the voice of a young girl and raised her head. She stared out the window for a long time, remembering her little sister, who she hadn’t last seen alive since she was still a baby.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Black Butterfly

  When Alice was 7

  Alice was going about her daily rounds. The next stop was a visit to the Caterpillar.

  He liked to sit atop his mushroom with a hookah and smoke various spices. He liked to try numerous and new varieties, which he often tested on Alice first. Sometimes the spices were fun and sometimes they were horrifying or made her sick.

  Since the Caterpillar was an ordinary-sized insect, she had to shrink down to his size to interact with him. That’s why she carried a piece of his mushroom. It had magical properties so that it could shrink or enlarge Alice.

  On that particular day, as she looked down, she could see that the Caterpillar had a visitor—a black butterfly who was resting on the ground in front of him. They seemed to be talking, but as large as Alice was, their voices just sounded like tiny insect murmurs that she couldn’t make out.

  She nibbled on the mushroom piece, then began to shrink.

  She was behind the Caterpillar and he didn’t even seem to notice her presence.

  The Black Butterfly noticed Alice but didn’t acknowledge her. There were a couple of peculiar things about the butterfly. She seemed to be wearing two tiny shoes upon two of her legs—they looked like Mary Janes. And the butterfly seemed to be glowing with a kind of aura…of goody goodiness.

  “Ahahah!” said the Black Butterfly. “Look at you, still sitting up there like a grub on a log. Still too afraid to metamorphosize?”

  “Quit bullying me! I’ve already told you I’m not afraid! I just like being a caterpillar.”

  “No, you’re just too scared of growing up! All the other caterpillars from our egg batch have gone on to be butterflies. Except you. What’s wrong with you, that your progress is so…delayed? Hmm? Maybe you’re too dumb to figure it out.”

  “I’ll transform someday, when I feel like it. What does it matter to you? None of the other butterflies give me a hard time about it.”

  “Awah. I’m just trying to help you not be such a loser. They all talk behind your back, but I’m the only one nice enough to say it to your face.”

  “No, you’re just a vicious harlot. With wings of black.”

  “Yes, I definitely stand apart. I’m not ordinary, like all the others.” She sneered.

  Alice continued watching silently, not knowing what to make of it all. She couldn’t understand the goody aura around the butterfly, since she didn’t seem so very goody at all. The Caterpillar still hadn’t noticed her standing behind him.

  “One day,” the Caterpillar said, in a whiny voice, “the other butterflies will banish you just like they banished the black rose that transformed you.”

  She chuckled. “Pish posh. I am more powerful, and much more vicious than any of them will ever be. They are too afraid to ever do anything against me. But even as pathetic as they all are, they are still above you, you lowly grub!”

  The Caterpillar drew back and whimpered. Alice felt sorry for him, and for a moment thought about stepping in and saying something, but then she thought that might be too humiliating for him. The Black Butterfly winked at her—she seemed to be putting on a cruel show for Alice’s benefit.

  The Black Butterfly cackled. “Well, I have other things to do than stare at you, pathetic grub. So I just dropped by to hear you say it before I go back to my tree. So are you pathetic?”

  The Caterpillar didn’t respond.

  “Say it! Or I’ll beat you up and take whatever stupid spices you’re smoking!”

  “I’m pathetic,” the Caterpillar muttered.

  Alice watched on with her eyes brimming with tears of rage. How dare that Black Butterfly be so mean to my Caterpillar!

  The Black Butterfly cackled loudly then took flight, swooshing through the air and fluttering briefly over the Caterpillar’s head, where she stroked against his face with some
of her legs.

  “Ow! Stop it!” he whined.

  “I’ll see you later, grub,” the Black Butterfly mocked, then flew off. As she passed over, she gave Alice a vicious smile, then she was gone.

  “Oh why won’t she just leave me alone!?” the Caterpillar called out.

  Alice had never seen the Caterpillar like this, so vulnerable. She knew that he could be mean sometimes, but now she had a better understanding as to the reason why. Maybe he only picked on others because he himself had been picked on so much. She felt sorry for him, and she yearned to go to him and comfort him, but still, she thought it might be best to respect his dignity. She didn’t want him to feel ashamed.

  And so she quietly backed away to a distance where he couldn’t see her, then enlarged herself once again.

  She was furious. Alice was determined to go have a “discussion” with her. The Black Butterfly needed to learn that it was really mean to pick on others like that! Why, how would she like it if she was being picked on?

  Alice looked in the direction the butterfly had flown. She was surprised that she could see a glowing kind of trail floating in the air. It was the goody goody energy that she was sensing, she realized, leaving a trail like a scent for a bloodhound. She giggled at that thought.

  And so, like a bloodhound on a trail, she followed it, not knowing what would happen when she got there, but she felt like more than a match for a little butterfly. Why, she could rip off her stupid wings if she wanted. But no, that would be mean. It wouldn’t solve anything. Maybe she could reason with the Black Butterfly—explain how she had hurt the Caterpillar’s feelings…

  And so she followed the glowing trail and soon it led her to a tree and a little nook inside the tree.

  She knew she should perhaps be more cautious, but she was still absolutely furious at the Butterfly for treating her friend, the Caterpillar, like that—okay, so maybe he wasn’t exactly her friend—he was more like her tormentor, but he was her tormentor, and she was possessive.

  She grabbed a hold of the tree trunk and clasped on, then she ate a bit of the mushroom to shrink herself. She began to shrink in comparison to the tree and scrambled to keep a grip upon the bark. She managed a fair job of it. She stopped shrinking, holding onto the tree just below the nook entrance.