Fall From Grace, Chapter 4, by insaneladybug/Lucky_Ladybug (Princess Tutu, #12)
Title: Fall From Grace, Chapter Four
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Theme: #12 - Legato (Slipping Away)
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Warnings: A canon character gradually going off the deep end/behaving as though he has a split personality? ...
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and the story is!
Summary/Comments: Almost everyone at the Academy is walking around in a trance induced by Autor, save Femio, who joins the others in searching for the crazed student.
Cross-posted to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5844337/4/ and ladybug_tales.
Notes: This and all future chapters will be dedicated to LunaSphere and her amazing story This Pendent Heart. It’s because of her story that my drive and determination to get this story written and completed has increased.
Prompt #12 - Legato (Slipping Away)
The scene at Kinkan Academy when Ahiru and the others arrived was enough to make all four of them stop and stare in shock. Students and teachers alike were wandering about, their eyes glazed and blank as they bore strange smiles on their faces. None of them seemed to pay the newcomers the slightest heed as they traveled here and there, as if in search of something they could never find.
Mytho and Rue were particularly alarmed. “This is exactly what happened back at the castle!” Mytho exclaimed, stepping aside to allow two students to pass. “Everyone in the court began going into these almost drug-induced states, searching for the composer of the mysterious music.”
Fakir’s eyes narrowed. “Then Autor is already at work again,” he said.
At his side he clutched the satchel in which he kept his writing materials. He had taken to carrying them with him whenever he could, not knowing when they might be necessary. But he was concerned over how he would write a Story against Autor, if it was even possible. He had only ever been able to write about Ahiru, and how could he write a Story in which she was confronting Autor? She could not transform into Princess Tutu now. And he did not want to expose her any further to the dangers of Autor falling deeper into his madness, especially if she did not have any powers to protect against him.
“Maybe he’s still close by!” Ahiru said. “Let’s see if he’s in the music building!” Without waiting for a reply she tore past, weaving around a dazed Malen and later, Freya, in the process. She stared at her friends with wide eyes. She wanted to stop and try to help them get out of their states, but if they could find Autor, maybe they could get him to break the spell over everyone. They had to hope so, anyway.
“Hey! Wait up!” Fakir called in frustration. He and the others quickly followed, disturbed as they passed countless trance-like students. By the time they caught up to Ahiru, she was already going inside the music building.
She only screeched to a halt when she arrived at the practice room Autor usually frequented. But then she stood in the half-open doorway, her shoulders slumping. The room was empty.
“He’s not here,” she called to Fakir and the others.
“The entire building seems empty,” Rue frowned.
“Where could he be?!” Ahiru exclaimed in despair. She had thought sure they would find him in here, especially due to the state of everyone on the lawn. He had to have been at a piano to have caused this, after all.
“We should split up and search the grounds,” Mytho said. “Rue and I will take this side. Fakir, you and Ahiru can check the other side. We’ll meet back in a half-hour.”
Fakir nodded, his expression darkening. Where really could Autor have gone? This did not make sense. “We should thoroughly check this building first,” he said.
The others agreed, but their search failed to yield results. They exited the music building some time later, weary and worried and frustrated.
“Let’s split up now,” Fakir grumbled, rubbing his right eye. “If there’s even any point. He’s probably gone someplace we’ll never find him.”
“He acted like he was going to go to classes today!” Ahiru said, feeling helpless.
“And who’s going to teach the class?” Fakir returned. “They’re all walking around like the undead.”
Ahiru shuddered at his comparison. “We should try to find a way to help them,” she said.
Mytho shook his head. “I don’t think there is a way, not without defeating Autor.” He frowned. “Those in our court act like this until the music stops playing.”
“But I don’t even hear anything!” Ahiru cried.
“He’s controlling them from a distance,” Fakir said. “Maybe they only hear the music in their heads.”
“We really heard it in our kingdom,” Mytho said. “But strangely, we were never affected.”
“Maybe you’re building up resistance to weird things,” Fakir said. Frowning at the vacant crowds he retracted, “Then again, these people should be building up resistance too.”
“What if he’s doing something different here?” Rue spoke. “Maybe he’s written a piece of music that will keep them under his control even if he isn’t currently playing anything.”
Mytho’s eyes widened. “That’s possible,” he said. “In fact, that’s very likely the explanation. There probably really was music here before we came.”
“Excusez-moi, mon amis, but I perceive that you are all quite confused by the state of things here!”
Everyone jumped a mile at the voice. As they turned, Ahiru’s mouth dropped open. Femio, riding on his bull, was approaching them.
Fakir grunted. “Just who we don’t need,” he muttered in frustration. The eccentric and egotistic student was the last person he wanted to see right now.
“Wait a minute, Fakir,” Mytho said, resting his hand on Fakir’s arm. “He’s not under the spell. We should find out why.”
“He probably wasn’t here, just like we weren’t,” Fakir said.
The bull stopped as it drew nigh. Femio leaped off, landing gracefully on the ground next to them. In his hand he twirled a rose.
“It is truly a gift from above to be in the presence of two such beautiful ladies,” he said, looking from Ahiru to Rue. Ahiru went red and stammered, still not knowing exactly what to say to the romancing boy. Rue, on the other hand, just gave a coy smile.
“You’re right about us being confused,” she said. “Maybe you can help enlighten us.”
“I will do all that I can, mademoiselle,” Femio said.
Annoyed, Fakir crossed his arms. “Why aren’t you in a trance like these other people?” he asked.
“A trance?” Femio repeated indignantly. “No trance could hold the likes of me, one who is qualified to be a true prince.” But he frowned as the rose petals that accompanied his words were not forthcoming. His valet was nowhere in sight.
“Um, were you here when it happened, Femio?” Ahiru asked.
“I most certainly was, mon cherie,” Femio said.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Mytho queried.
Femio looked at Mytho in distaste, as if suddenly realizing he was there. “Are you still leading young girls’ hearts astray with your false love, Mytho?” he said, ignoring the question.
Mytho flinched, horrible memories of a time that still plagued him coming to the forefront of his mind. He looked helpless, unsure at all of how to reply.
Rue came to his rescue. “We’re not here to talk about Mytho,” she said, her tone perfectly smooth.
Femio looked to her, determining in an instant that she was still Mytho’s girl from her actions-and from the slightly frosty look she was giving him. “Of course, mademoiselle,” he said.
He cleared his throat. “What happened was that shortly before the first bell rang, a most interesting piece of music began floating across the grounds,” he said. “Almost everyone who heard it was immediately induced by its, and its composer’s, mystery. And they began to wander like this.” He sighed. “I am truly afraid that they are pursuing yet another false love.
“They always turn to these false loves!” he berated now. “Truly, it would not happen if I did not have such drastic shortcomings!”
Everyone stepped back as he raised his arms to the sky, remembering all too well what was going to come next. “Oh Heaven, I beseech thee, punish this sinner!” Femio cried.
But this time nothing happened. The bull lowed, its tail swishing. The others, who had braced themselves for the assault, now began to relax with some hesitance.
Femio’s shoulders slumped. “It just isn’t the same without Montand,” he bemoaned.
“Was he affected too?” Fakir asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Femio sighed, slumping onto a stone bench. “I couldn’t do a thing! My sins are too numerous to even begin to count.” He ran his hands into his hair. “And now I can’t even atone for them!”
Ahiru shifted in discomfort before finally going over and sitting beside him. “It’ll be okay, Femio,” she said. “We’ll break the spell!”
He looked over at her. “Really?” he said.
“Yeah!” Ahiru said. “Of course. And then everyone will go back to normal.”
“Oh! But I won’t have done anything, sinful man that I am!” Femio wailed. He got up, his fingers now digging right into his scalp. “I’m too treacherous for words!”
“Maybe you can do something,” Rue said, ignoring his outburst. “Have you seen one of the music students around? He’s around Fakir’s height and wears glasses.” She gave Femio a thoughtful look. “His hair is a little darker than yours.”
“Him?” Femio sniffed. “What do you want with him, mademoiselle He is very unfriendly.”
“It doesn’t matter why we want him,” Fakir growled. “Have you seen him or not?”
Femio regarded him in annoyance. “There is no need to lose your temper, Fakir,” he said. “And non, I have not seen him. Have you tried the library?”
“He hasn’t been there lately,” Fakir said.
“But anything’s worth a try,” Ahiru put in. “We should look, anyway!” She hopped up from the bench. “That’s on our side of the grounds,” she added, looking to Fakir. “Let’s go!”
Femio sighed. “If you really need to find him so badly, perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Fakir grumbled. What if Femio happened to be unlucky enough to actually find Autor? If Autor was in an ill mood, or switching back and forth as Ahiru and Rue had described, he might even harm Femio. Or, if Femio realized Autor was responsible for the spell, he might hurt him-though that sounded highly unlikely. Femio did not seem the type. But his bizarre antics could be unpredictable, Fakir supposed.
“How about if you find him, just try to detain him until we can come?” Mytho said. “Though I fear that may be difficult. . . .”
“I am no stranger to difficulties!” Femio said.
“Okay,” Fakir grudgingly conceded. “Why don’t you look around the middle? Meet us back here in thirty minutes.”
“I am at your service,” Femio said, though he was gazing at Ahiru and Rue as he said this. Climbing back on his bull, he shouted a command and the animal turned and lumbered off.
Ahiru sighed. “That was weird,” she said. “But maybe it will help to have someone else looking too!”
“When that someone else is Femio, it’s debatable,” Fakir growled.
“Now, Fakir,” Mytho said with a slight smile of both amusement and reproach, “let’s give him a chance.”
“We’re doing that, aren’t we?” Fakir returned. He walked towards the right. “We have a lot of places to search. We should start.”
Ahiru hurried after him, staring in dread and horror as the zombie-like people as they went past. Piké and Lilie, she noticed, had so far not been among them at all. Had they not been on campus, either? But it would not be like them to be so late. They had probably been affected too and just had not been discovered yet.
She clenched an agonized fist as she and Fakir arrived at and began searching through the deathly quiet library. Why had Autor done this? They had to find him and set it right. And Ahiru would not give up until he was his old self, too.
****
Autor hid himself behind a support beam at the gazebo, his hands trembling and his eyes wide. He had done it. He had brought nearly everyone at the academy under his control. And though he had known about what he was doing in other lands, this was the first he had physically seen any of the fruits of his labors.
It was thrilling, wasn’t it, to walk amongst them and know that he had caused such a thing, that just by playing notes on the piano he had exercised so much power!
But No, he protested in his mind. This was not what he had wanted. How would making mindless dolls out of everyone at the academy help him better the world?
He drew his shaking hands up to his eye level. He had done this. With his own hands and the dream he had carried since he was a small boy, he had done it.
I could still turn back, he said to himself. I could reverse the music’s effects and go back to my original design.
But this is your original design, the other voice replied. Sacrifices have to be made, don’t they? Eventually they will be released, when all your compositions are complete and the world falls at your feet. Then they will see that after all you have done for them, you are the only one qualified to lead the people of this planet!
More like what I’ve done to them, Autor thought bitterly.
He took off his glasses, running a hand over his eyes. How had he come to this?
“How, you ask?” Drosselmeyer grinned. “It’s simple, Autor, my boy. You crave it, deep down. You want power and recognition so much that you’re willing to do terrible things to get it. And the more you struggle and try to pursue this goal of yours, the more this other you will consume you, guided by the Story itself. Oh, Story-Spinning is such a dangerous thing. You always thought you knew just how dangerous. But did you? Did you at all?” He laughed. “It’s bringing out your worst traits, the ones you were afraid of and tried to hide even from yourself. But you can only hide from yourself for so long!” He spread his arms wide. “Now, keep going. Show me this excellent tragedy you have been Spinning with your own hands!”
Uzura, previously unseen in the shadows, now came forward, her blue eyes wide as she stared into the picture displayed in the gear. “What’s wrong with the weird Autor zura?” she asked in concern.
“He’s gotten himself into quite the predicament,” Drosselmeyer sneered. “Now, let’s see if he can possibly extricate himself. Only he won’t; he’ll only keep falling deeper and deeper into this mess until there’s nothing left of the boy little Ahiru and the others knew.”
“Then he’s changing zura?” Uzura watched as Autor replaced his glasses and pushed himself away from the support beam. With a last glance over his shoulder, he fled the gazebo and vanished into the trees.
“Yes, he’s changing very much,” Drosselmeyer said. “It’s wonderful.”
Uzura frowned. She did not like seeing the weird Autor look so upset. It was not wonderful at all! She turned, retracing her steps to her previous location.
Not noticing, Drosselmeyer continued to view the scenes with relish. “So, you made your choice, Autor, my boy,” he commented as Autor ran through the dense trees. “You won’t repair what you have done. You’re just going to keep running. And where will you run except back to a piano? Yes, you have set this tragedy in motion. There’s no course now other than the one you have taken. How delightful. Yes, how delightful indeed.”
****
Ahiru’s shoulders were slumped as she and Fakir headed back to the appointed meeting place thirty minutes later. Autor was simply nowhere to be found. The fruitless search had left her drained and discouraged.
Looking at her, Fakir gave a slight smile of love and amusement and took pity. “Maybe Mytho and Rue found him,” he suggested.
But Ahiru sighed, only perking up a slight bit. “Maybe,” she said without real confidence.
She looked up at him. “Fakir, what are we going to do?” she said despairingly. “If we can’t find Autor, or even if we can and he won’t do anything about this, then we have to do something else to get everyone back to normal!”
Fakir looked ahead, his expression sobering. “I haven’t tried writing yet,” he said. “But there’s still a problem.”
She blinked at him. “What’s that?”
“Even if I can challenge him despite us using different methods, I’ve only been able to write Stories about you.” Fakir glanced to her, watching her eyes widen. “I’d have to write something where you bring the people back to themselves. And you’re no longer Princess Tutu.”
Ahiru frowned, glowering at the ground as if it was responsible for this dilemma. But then she straightened, looking at Fakir with renewed determination. “Then write something where I’m able to be Princess Tutu again!” she said.
Fakir blew out his breath in frustration. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “Remember, you could only become her when you used Mytho’s heart shard of Hope. Princess Tutu’s existence is bound up in that heart shard. If I try to write a Story where you become her again, I’m afraid of what it might do to Mytho.”
Ahiru stared at him, her eyes growing even wider than before. Fakir was right; that was out of the question. And they could not mention it around Mytho. Knowing how selfless he was, he might agree to take the risk if it came to that. But neither Ahiru or Fakir wanted to repeat the tragedy that had came about when Mytho had sealed away the Monster Raven. And Ahiru was sure that Rue would flat-out refuse to allow it.
She turned her attention to the music building as they drew closer. Mytho and Rue were already there, talking quietly about something. And judging from the rumbling of the ground, Femio was approaching on his bull.
“I have not found him, mon amis!” the flamboyant student called as they rounded a corner.
“Nor have we,” Mytho sighed. “And it looks like your luck was the same, Fakir,” he added, glancing over at the others.
Ahiru sank onto the same stone bench that Femio had previously occupied. “And everyone’s still acting so creepy,” she said. “What do we do now?”
In some way, she supposed, she felt even more helpless than when they had been under Drosselmeyer’s Story. At least then, she had been able to transform into Princess Tutu to do good. But now they were all at a standstill, pawns in Autor’s Story. And when they could not even find him, there was no way to try to talk him out of this.
Was there?
“Hey!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
Everyone leaped a mile. “What is it?!” Fakir frowned, wondering what had suddenly got her so energetic.
“Drosselmeyer could always hear us, right?” Ahiru said hopefully. “He was always watching. What if Autor can hear us too? Maybe we should just try to talk to him right here and now!”
Rue looked surprised. “But couldn’t Drosselmeyer only hear us because of his machine?” she said.
Fakir shook his head. “Partially, but I think it was also because he was writing about us,” he said. “Or maybe just because he’s dead. When I was writing the end of his Story, I could hear everything that was happening. And yet the ending wasn’t coming from me; the Story was really writing itself through me. This is different.”
“What if it isn’t?” Ahiru returned, still determined to give Autor the benefit of a doubt. “Maybe this Story is writing itself through Autor and that’s why he’s acting so weird!”
Fakir just sighed. “. . . Anything’s worth a try, I guess,” he conceded at last. “But it’s going to look ridiculous for you to call to him right here.”
“So? No one’s going to care!” Ahiru looked to the distant trees on the grounds and raised her voice. “Autor, we know you’re out there! Please stop this and change everybody back! This isn’t the real you!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, little Ahiru,” Drosselmeyer smirked. “This is indeed the real Autor, for one’s darkness is just as real as one’s light.”
Femio stood by, bewildered. “I confess I don’t understand what is going on here,” he said. “Why are we calling to him when he is clearly not around? And what is this talk of stories?”
Fakir massaged his eyes. “Nevermind,” he said. The thought of taking Femio into their confidence was a nightmare. He did not want this nut to know the details of everything that had been and now was taking place.
But Femio was not willing to back down. “If I am going to help you, I need to know exactly what we are dealing with!” he said. “And I will help you, because not only do I wish to not go against my honor when trouble is at hand, I wish to save Montand and everyone who has been caught in this terrible web of deceit!”
Mytho looked back and forth between him and Fakir. “Well, this is a predicament, isn’t it,” he mused to Rue, who frowned and crossed her arms.
“In some way, he could be useful,” she said. “After all, he’s resisted Autor’s spell, which is more than can be said about these others. But somehow I don’t think he would believe it if we told him the truth about the Stories. Yet keeping him in the dark could have unfortunate consequences too.”
“Let’s forget about it for now,” Fakir said. “Autor couldn’t have gotten far. We should spread out more and keep looking.”
Still not willing to give up on her idea, Ahiru waited desperately for any indication that Autor had heard her plea. But the only sounds were the footsteps of the dazed students and faculty and the wind in the trees. She sighed, her shoulders drooping.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s keep looking.”
“And what about me?” Femio said in indignation.
“If you want to help, keep looking for Autor,” Fakir said. “But if you find him at a piano, be careful.”
“A piano?” Femio’s eyes widened in his sudden realization. “Then it is he who has put everyone under this abominable spell! I should have known. I always did think something wasn’t quite right about him!”
“He’s not himself!” Ahiru exclaimed. “He’s a good person, he really is!”
Femio gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “If you say so, mon cherie,” he said. But from the way his lavender eyes flickered, he did not believe it.
****
Ahiru and Fakir were half-right. Autor could hear the people in his Stories, but only if he was currently playing a piano-and even then, not always. At the moment, he was slipping through the unlocked back door of an abandoned instrument store, then shutting and locking it behind him. He would be discovered if he went home right now, and he was in too much of a state of turmoil to think of dealing with anyone.
After dusting off a bench in the very back, he sank onto it and gazed with blank eyes at the piano in front of him. Maybe if he played for a while he would feel better. It had always given him a feeling of tranquility in the past. That was exactly what he needed now.
He lifted the lid with care, staring down at the preserved keys. Hesitantly he pressed one, frowning as an out-of-tune sound echoed through the room. It was not as bad as it could be, he supposed, considering that this store had been vacant for Heaven knew how long. But he was a perfectionist. And years before, he had taught himself how to tune a piano. He refused to play one that did not sound right to his well-trained ears.
With a sigh he got up to look for the proper tools.
“And what will you play when you’re ready?” Drosselmeyer mused, observing him work. “An old, familiar standard? Or will you find yourself writing a completely new song, one that will draw more of this poor town into your clutches?” He rocked in his chair. “Tell me a story, Autor, my boy. A story wrought with suffering and anguish that does not end happily for anyone, including you!”
At last Autor was done with the tuning and sat at the piano again. Yes, now the notes were smooth and flowing and in perfect harmony. He played for a while, losing himself in the work of the great composers of the past. And somehow, almost without him fully realizing, he switched to something else, something unfamiliar that poured from his mind to his heart and into his fingertips. His lips pulled back in a mad smirk as he played.
Come to me, Kinkan, he said in the music’s notes and chords. Come to me and only me.
And Drosselmeyer laughed in sickening delight to see the boy with a good heart fall further into his inner darkness.
Author: Lucky_Ladybug/insaneladybug
Theme: #12 - Legato (Slipping Away)
Fandom: Princess Tutu
Warnings: A canon character gradually going off the deep end/behaving as though he has a split personality? ...
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine and the story is!
Summary/Comments: Almost everyone at the Academy is walking around in a trance induced by Autor, save Femio, who joins the others in searching for the crazed student.
Cross-posted to http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5844337/4/ and ladybug_tales.
Notes: This and all future chapters will be dedicated to LunaSphere and her amazing story This Pendent Heart. It’s because of her story that my drive and determination to get this story written and completed has increased.
Prompt #12 - Legato (Slipping Away)
The scene at Kinkan Academy when Ahiru and the others arrived was enough to make all four of them stop and stare in shock. Students and teachers alike were wandering about, their eyes glazed and blank as they bore strange smiles on their faces. None of them seemed to pay the newcomers the slightest heed as they traveled here and there, as if in search of something they could never find.
Mytho and Rue were particularly alarmed. “This is exactly what happened back at the castle!” Mytho exclaimed, stepping aside to allow two students to pass. “Everyone in the court began going into these almost drug-induced states, searching for the composer of the mysterious music.”
Fakir’s eyes narrowed. “Then Autor is already at work again,” he said.
At his side he clutched the satchel in which he kept his writing materials. He had taken to carrying them with him whenever he could, not knowing when they might be necessary. But he was concerned over how he would write a Story against Autor, if it was even possible. He had only ever been able to write about Ahiru, and how could he write a Story in which she was confronting Autor? She could not transform into Princess Tutu now. And he did not want to expose her any further to the dangers of Autor falling deeper into his madness, especially if she did not have any powers to protect against him.
“Maybe he’s still close by!” Ahiru said. “Let’s see if he’s in the music building!” Without waiting for a reply she tore past, weaving around a dazed Malen and later, Freya, in the process. She stared at her friends with wide eyes. She wanted to stop and try to help them get out of their states, but if they could find Autor, maybe they could get him to break the spell over everyone. They had to hope so, anyway.
“Hey! Wait up!” Fakir called in frustration. He and the others quickly followed, disturbed as they passed countless trance-like students. By the time they caught up to Ahiru, she was already going inside the music building.
She only screeched to a halt when she arrived at the practice room Autor usually frequented. But then she stood in the half-open doorway, her shoulders slumping. The room was empty.
“He’s not here,” she called to Fakir and the others.
“The entire building seems empty,” Rue frowned.
“Where could he be?!” Ahiru exclaimed in despair. She had thought sure they would find him in here, especially due to the state of everyone on the lawn. He had to have been at a piano to have caused this, after all.
“We should split up and search the grounds,” Mytho said. “Rue and I will take this side. Fakir, you and Ahiru can check the other side. We’ll meet back in a half-hour.”
Fakir nodded, his expression darkening. Where really could Autor have gone? This did not make sense. “We should thoroughly check this building first,” he said.
The others agreed, but their search failed to yield results. They exited the music building some time later, weary and worried and frustrated.
“Let’s split up now,” Fakir grumbled, rubbing his right eye. “If there’s even any point. He’s probably gone someplace we’ll never find him.”
“He acted like he was going to go to classes today!” Ahiru said, feeling helpless.
“And who’s going to teach the class?” Fakir returned. “They’re all walking around like the undead.”
Ahiru shuddered at his comparison. “We should try to find a way to help them,” she said.
Mytho shook his head. “I don’t think there is a way, not without defeating Autor.” He frowned. “Those in our court act like this until the music stops playing.”
“But I don’t even hear anything!” Ahiru cried.
“He’s controlling them from a distance,” Fakir said. “Maybe they only hear the music in their heads.”
“We really heard it in our kingdom,” Mytho said. “But strangely, we were never affected.”
“Maybe you’re building up resistance to weird things,” Fakir said. Frowning at the vacant crowds he retracted, “Then again, these people should be building up resistance too.”
“What if he’s doing something different here?” Rue spoke. “Maybe he’s written a piece of music that will keep them under his control even if he isn’t currently playing anything.”
Mytho’s eyes widened. “That’s possible,” he said. “In fact, that’s very likely the explanation. There probably really was music here before we came.”
“Excusez-moi, mon amis, but I perceive that you are all quite confused by the state of things here!”
Everyone jumped a mile at the voice. As they turned, Ahiru’s mouth dropped open. Femio, riding on his bull, was approaching them.
Fakir grunted. “Just who we don’t need,” he muttered in frustration. The eccentric and egotistic student was the last person he wanted to see right now.
“Wait a minute, Fakir,” Mytho said, resting his hand on Fakir’s arm. “He’s not under the spell. We should find out why.”
“He probably wasn’t here, just like we weren’t,” Fakir said.
The bull stopped as it drew nigh. Femio leaped off, landing gracefully on the ground next to them. In his hand he twirled a rose.
“It is truly a gift from above to be in the presence of two such beautiful ladies,” he said, looking from Ahiru to Rue. Ahiru went red and stammered, still not knowing exactly what to say to the romancing boy. Rue, on the other hand, just gave a coy smile.
“You’re right about us being confused,” she said. “Maybe you can help enlighten us.”
“I will do all that I can, mademoiselle,” Femio said.
Annoyed, Fakir crossed his arms. “Why aren’t you in a trance like these other people?” he asked.
“A trance?” Femio repeated indignantly. “No trance could hold the likes of me, one who is qualified to be a true prince.” But he frowned as the rose petals that accompanied his words were not forthcoming. His valet was nowhere in sight.
“Um, were you here when it happened, Femio?” Ahiru asked.
“I most certainly was, mon cherie,” Femio said.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Mytho queried.
Femio looked at Mytho in distaste, as if suddenly realizing he was there. “Are you still leading young girls’ hearts astray with your false love, Mytho?” he said, ignoring the question.
Mytho flinched, horrible memories of a time that still plagued him coming to the forefront of his mind. He looked helpless, unsure at all of how to reply.
Rue came to his rescue. “We’re not here to talk about Mytho,” she said, her tone perfectly smooth.
Femio looked to her, determining in an instant that she was still Mytho’s girl from her actions-and from the slightly frosty look she was giving him. “Of course, mademoiselle,” he said.
He cleared his throat. “What happened was that shortly before the first bell rang, a most interesting piece of music began floating across the grounds,” he said. “Almost everyone who heard it was immediately induced by its, and its composer’s, mystery. And they began to wander like this.” He sighed. “I am truly afraid that they are pursuing yet another false love.
“They always turn to these false loves!” he berated now. “Truly, it would not happen if I did not have such drastic shortcomings!”
Everyone stepped back as he raised his arms to the sky, remembering all too well what was going to come next. “Oh Heaven, I beseech thee, punish this sinner!” Femio cried.
But this time nothing happened. The bull lowed, its tail swishing. The others, who had braced themselves for the assault, now began to relax with some hesitance.
Femio’s shoulders slumped. “It just isn’t the same without Montand,” he bemoaned.
“Was he affected too?” Fakir asked.
“Unfortunately, yes,” Femio sighed, slumping onto a stone bench. “I couldn’t do a thing! My sins are too numerous to even begin to count.” He ran his hands into his hair. “And now I can’t even atone for them!”
Ahiru shifted in discomfort before finally going over and sitting beside him. “It’ll be okay, Femio,” she said. “We’ll break the spell!”
He looked over at her. “Really?” he said.
“Yeah!” Ahiru said. “Of course. And then everyone will go back to normal.”
“Oh! But I won’t have done anything, sinful man that I am!” Femio wailed. He got up, his fingers now digging right into his scalp. “I’m too treacherous for words!”
“Maybe you can do something,” Rue said, ignoring his outburst. “Have you seen one of the music students around? He’s around Fakir’s height and wears glasses.” She gave Femio a thoughtful look. “His hair is a little darker than yours.”
“Him?” Femio sniffed. “What do you want with him, mademoiselle He is very unfriendly.”
“It doesn’t matter why we want him,” Fakir growled. “Have you seen him or not?”
Femio regarded him in annoyance. “There is no need to lose your temper, Fakir,” he said. “And non, I have not seen him. Have you tried the library?”
“He hasn’t been there lately,” Fakir said.
“But anything’s worth a try,” Ahiru put in. “We should look, anyway!” She hopped up from the bench. “That’s on our side of the grounds,” she added, looking to Fakir. “Let’s go!”
Femio sighed. “If you really need to find him so badly, perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Fakir grumbled. What if Femio happened to be unlucky enough to actually find Autor? If Autor was in an ill mood, or switching back and forth as Ahiru and Rue had described, he might even harm Femio. Or, if Femio realized Autor was responsible for the spell, he might hurt him-though that sounded highly unlikely. Femio did not seem the type. But his bizarre antics could be unpredictable, Fakir supposed.
“How about if you find him, just try to detain him until we can come?” Mytho said. “Though I fear that may be difficult. . . .”
“I am no stranger to difficulties!” Femio said.
“Okay,” Fakir grudgingly conceded. “Why don’t you look around the middle? Meet us back here in thirty minutes.”
“I am at your service,” Femio said, though he was gazing at Ahiru and Rue as he said this. Climbing back on his bull, he shouted a command and the animal turned and lumbered off.
Ahiru sighed. “That was weird,” she said. “But maybe it will help to have someone else looking too!”
“When that someone else is Femio, it’s debatable,” Fakir growled.
“Now, Fakir,” Mytho said with a slight smile of both amusement and reproach, “let’s give him a chance.”
“We’re doing that, aren’t we?” Fakir returned. He walked towards the right. “We have a lot of places to search. We should start.”
Ahiru hurried after him, staring in dread and horror as the zombie-like people as they went past. Piké and Lilie, she noticed, had so far not been among them at all. Had they not been on campus, either? But it would not be like them to be so late. They had probably been affected too and just had not been discovered yet.
She clenched an agonized fist as she and Fakir arrived at and began searching through the deathly quiet library. Why had Autor done this? They had to find him and set it right. And Ahiru would not give up until he was his old self, too.
****
Autor hid himself behind a support beam at the gazebo, his hands trembling and his eyes wide. He had done it. He had brought nearly everyone at the academy under his control. And though he had known about what he was doing in other lands, this was the first he had physically seen any of the fruits of his labors.
It was thrilling, wasn’t it, to walk amongst them and know that he had caused such a thing, that just by playing notes on the piano he had exercised so much power!
But No, he protested in his mind. This was not what he had wanted. How would making mindless dolls out of everyone at the academy help him better the world?
He drew his shaking hands up to his eye level. He had done this. With his own hands and the dream he had carried since he was a small boy, he had done it.
I could still turn back, he said to himself. I could reverse the music’s effects and go back to my original design.
But this is your original design, the other voice replied. Sacrifices have to be made, don’t they? Eventually they will be released, when all your compositions are complete and the world falls at your feet. Then they will see that after all you have done for them, you are the only one qualified to lead the people of this planet!
More like what I’ve done to them, Autor thought bitterly.
He took off his glasses, running a hand over his eyes. How had he come to this?
“How, you ask?” Drosselmeyer grinned. “It’s simple, Autor, my boy. You crave it, deep down. You want power and recognition so much that you’re willing to do terrible things to get it. And the more you struggle and try to pursue this goal of yours, the more this other you will consume you, guided by the Story itself. Oh, Story-Spinning is such a dangerous thing. You always thought you knew just how dangerous. But did you? Did you at all?” He laughed. “It’s bringing out your worst traits, the ones you were afraid of and tried to hide even from yourself. But you can only hide from yourself for so long!” He spread his arms wide. “Now, keep going. Show me this excellent tragedy you have been Spinning with your own hands!”
Uzura, previously unseen in the shadows, now came forward, her blue eyes wide as she stared into the picture displayed in the gear. “What’s wrong with the weird Autor zura?” she asked in concern.
“He’s gotten himself into quite the predicament,” Drosselmeyer sneered. “Now, let’s see if he can possibly extricate himself. Only he won’t; he’ll only keep falling deeper and deeper into this mess until there’s nothing left of the boy little Ahiru and the others knew.”
“Then he’s changing zura?” Uzura watched as Autor replaced his glasses and pushed himself away from the support beam. With a last glance over his shoulder, he fled the gazebo and vanished into the trees.
“Yes, he’s changing very much,” Drosselmeyer said. “It’s wonderful.”
Uzura frowned. She did not like seeing the weird Autor look so upset. It was not wonderful at all! She turned, retracing her steps to her previous location.
Not noticing, Drosselmeyer continued to view the scenes with relish. “So, you made your choice, Autor, my boy,” he commented as Autor ran through the dense trees. “You won’t repair what you have done. You’re just going to keep running. And where will you run except back to a piano? Yes, you have set this tragedy in motion. There’s no course now other than the one you have taken. How delightful. Yes, how delightful indeed.”
****
Ahiru’s shoulders were slumped as she and Fakir headed back to the appointed meeting place thirty minutes later. Autor was simply nowhere to be found. The fruitless search had left her drained and discouraged.
Looking at her, Fakir gave a slight smile of love and amusement and took pity. “Maybe Mytho and Rue found him,” he suggested.
But Ahiru sighed, only perking up a slight bit. “Maybe,” she said without real confidence.
She looked up at him. “Fakir, what are we going to do?” she said despairingly. “If we can’t find Autor, or even if we can and he won’t do anything about this, then we have to do something else to get everyone back to normal!”
Fakir looked ahead, his expression sobering. “I haven’t tried writing yet,” he said. “But there’s still a problem.”
She blinked at him. “What’s that?”
“Even if I can challenge him despite us using different methods, I’ve only been able to write Stories about you.” Fakir glanced to her, watching her eyes widen. “I’d have to write something where you bring the people back to themselves. And you’re no longer Princess Tutu.”
Ahiru frowned, glowering at the ground as if it was responsible for this dilemma. But then she straightened, looking at Fakir with renewed determination. “Then write something where I’m able to be Princess Tutu again!” she said.
Fakir blew out his breath in frustration. “It’s not that simple,” he said. “Remember, you could only become her when you used Mytho’s heart shard of Hope. Princess Tutu’s existence is bound up in that heart shard. If I try to write a Story where you become her again, I’m afraid of what it might do to Mytho.”
Ahiru stared at him, her eyes growing even wider than before. Fakir was right; that was out of the question. And they could not mention it around Mytho. Knowing how selfless he was, he might agree to take the risk if it came to that. But neither Ahiru or Fakir wanted to repeat the tragedy that had came about when Mytho had sealed away the Monster Raven. And Ahiru was sure that Rue would flat-out refuse to allow it.
She turned her attention to the music building as they drew closer. Mytho and Rue were already there, talking quietly about something. And judging from the rumbling of the ground, Femio was approaching on his bull.
“I have not found him, mon amis!” the flamboyant student called as they rounded a corner.
“Nor have we,” Mytho sighed. “And it looks like your luck was the same, Fakir,” he added, glancing over at the others.
Ahiru sank onto the same stone bench that Femio had previously occupied. “And everyone’s still acting so creepy,” she said. “What do we do now?”
In some way, she supposed, she felt even more helpless than when they had been under Drosselmeyer’s Story. At least then, she had been able to transform into Princess Tutu to do good. But now they were all at a standstill, pawns in Autor’s Story. And when they could not even find him, there was no way to try to talk him out of this.
Was there?
“Hey!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
Everyone leaped a mile. “What is it?!” Fakir frowned, wondering what had suddenly got her so energetic.
“Drosselmeyer could always hear us, right?” Ahiru said hopefully. “He was always watching. What if Autor can hear us too? Maybe we should just try to talk to him right here and now!”
Rue looked surprised. “But couldn’t Drosselmeyer only hear us because of his machine?” she said.
Fakir shook his head. “Partially, but I think it was also because he was writing about us,” he said. “Or maybe just because he’s dead. When I was writing the end of his Story, I could hear everything that was happening. And yet the ending wasn’t coming from me; the Story was really writing itself through me. This is different.”
“What if it isn’t?” Ahiru returned, still determined to give Autor the benefit of a doubt. “Maybe this Story is writing itself through Autor and that’s why he’s acting so weird!”
Fakir just sighed. “. . . Anything’s worth a try, I guess,” he conceded at last. “But it’s going to look ridiculous for you to call to him right here.”
“So? No one’s going to care!” Ahiru looked to the distant trees on the grounds and raised her voice. “Autor, we know you’re out there! Please stop this and change everybody back! This isn’t the real you!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, little Ahiru,” Drosselmeyer smirked. “This is indeed the real Autor, for one’s darkness is just as real as one’s light.”
Femio stood by, bewildered. “I confess I don’t understand what is going on here,” he said. “Why are we calling to him when he is clearly not around? And what is this talk of stories?”
Fakir massaged his eyes. “Nevermind,” he said. The thought of taking Femio into their confidence was a nightmare. He did not want this nut to know the details of everything that had been and now was taking place.
But Femio was not willing to back down. “If I am going to help you, I need to know exactly what we are dealing with!” he said. “And I will help you, because not only do I wish to not go against my honor when trouble is at hand, I wish to save Montand and everyone who has been caught in this terrible web of deceit!”
Mytho looked back and forth between him and Fakir. “Well, this is a predicament, isn’t it,” he mused to Rue, who frowned and crossed her arms.
“In some way, he could be useful,” she said. “After all, he’s resisted Autor’s spell, which is more than can be said about these others. But somehow I don’t think he would believe it if we told him the truth about the Stories. Yet keeping him in the dark could have unfortunate consequences too.”
“Let’s forget about it for now,” Fakir said. “Autor couldn’t have gotten far. We should spread out more and keep looking.”
Still not willing to give up on her idea, Ahiru waited desperately for any indication that Autor had heard her plea. But the only sounds were the footsteps of the dazed students and faculty and the wind in the trees. She sighed, her shoulders drooping.
“Yeah,” she said. “Let’s keep looking.”
“And what about me?” Femio said in indignation.
“If you want to help, keep looking for Autor,” Fakir said. “But if you find him at a piano, be careful.”
“A piano?” Femio’s eyes widened in his sudden realization. “Then it is he who has put everyone under this abominable spell! I should have known. I always did think something wasn’t quite right about him!”
“He’s not himself!” Ahiru exclaimed. “He’s a good person, he really is!”
Femio gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “If you say so, mon cherie,” he said. But from the way his lavender eyes flickered, he did not believe it.
****
Ahiru and Fakir were half-right. Autor could hear the people in his Stories, but only if he was currently playing a piano-and even then, not always. At the moment, he was slipping through the unlocked back door of an abandoned instrument store, then shutting and locking it behind him. He would be discovered if he went home right now, and he was in too much of a state of turmoil to think of dealing with anyone.
After dusting off a bench in the very back, he sank onto it and gazed with blank eyes at the piano in front of him. Maybe if he played for a while he would feel better. It had always given him a feeling of tranquility in the past. That was exactly what he needed now.
He lifted the lid with care, staring down at the preserved keys. Hesitantly he pressed one, frowning as an out-of-tune sound echoed through the room. It was not as bad as it could be, he supposed, considering that this store had been vacant for Heaven knew how long. But he was a perfectionist. And years before, he had taught himself how to tune a piano. He refused to play one that did not sound right to his well-trained ears.
With a sigh he got up to look for the proper tools.
“And what will you play when you’re ready?” Drosselmeyer mused, observing him work. “An old, familiar standard? Or will you find yourself writing a completely new song, one that will draw more of this poor town into your clutches?” He rocked in his chair. “Tell me a story, Autor, my boy. A story wrought with suffering and anguish that does not end happily for anyone, including you!”
At last Autor was done with the tuning and sat at the piano again. Yes, now the notes were smooth and flowing and in perfect harmony. He played for a while, losing himself in the work of the great composers of the past. And somehow, almost without him fully realizing, he switched to something else, something unfamiliar that poured from his mind to his heart and into his fingertips. His lips pulled back in a mad smirk as he played.
Come to me, Kinkan, he said in the music’s notes and chords. Come to me and only me.
And Drosselmeyer laughed in sickening delight to see the boy with a good heart fall further into his inner darkness.