The Silver Spear

Izzy grasped her silver spear with both hands and barred her teeth at the sphinx. From behind the glass of the display case it yawned, crossed one of its large front paws over the other, and didn’t appear in the slightest bit bothered by the girl approaching it.

“Speak now, demon,” Izzy growled, “or forever hold your peace.” She hoped she sounded threatening enough, she was sure she’d heard people say that in the movies.

The sphinx deigned to look at her and gave one slow blink of its sandy-grey eyes. Its strange feline body and human face had scared her at first, but the fact it was so sluggish and only the size of a small dog made Izzy think perhaps it wasn’t dangerous after all.

“Curious,” it said, making her jump. “How did you get in here after dark?”

It was the most peculiar sensation. The lips of the sphinx hadn’t moved, but she’d heard its deep, stone-smooth voice resonate through her head. She could feel its presence on the border of her mind: so terribly old and yet, regal.

“I don’t know, I just woke up here. I don’t know where I am,” she said out loud, unsure if that was the correct way to respond. As she spoke, she noticed how small her voice sounded in the vast, marble-walled room in which she stood. Dim spotlights in the crevices and lanterns on the columns were the only breaks in the otherwise murky shadow.

“This is the British Museum, little one.”

“I’m not little,” Izzy fumed, “I’m ten today!”

The sphinx stared at her and she felt it pressing against her conscience: at first, an uncomfortable roaming weight, like it was trying to read the texture of her brain. But it was warm and close. All at once, its compassion flooded through the membrane of her mind and released a knot she’d held viciously tight inside her. She gasped.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right,” it said. “You have far too much fear and sadness inside you for one of your age; you’re not as young as you look. Do you know what I am?”

“Yes, you’re a sphinx! I saw you on the History Channel. Wait… is this a riddle? Aren’t you supposed to ask riddles?”

“I’m the Sphinx of Taharqo, the last Nubian King of Egypt, who ruled over two thousand years ago. I was made to be a guardian, and it seems you have awoken the protective enchantment within me. I do not know why or to what end, but you must need my help. And no, it was not a riddle, it’s a common misconception, but riddles are the territory of the fickle Grecian sphinx; you may need that spear if you ever encounter one of those.” It finally hoisted itself up onto all four of its legs and circled around its enclosure, tail flicking back and forth. It paused and sunk into a tensed crouch.

“Stand back,” it rumbled.

Izzy hurried to one side, nearly tripping over a thread dangling from her flared jeans. The sphinx leaped forward and smacked its granite head into the glass. A jagged crack appeared. It retreated and burst forth again, smashing through the barrier and sending shards flying. Izzy shielded her face from the debris as the sphinx landed gracefully on the floor and shook itself. She grinned and gave it a cheer.

“How long were you in there? Bet it feels good to be free!” she said.

“You have no idea,” replied the sphinx. “But you will. Come, I sense we do not have much time, there is someone you must meet who I believe will have answers as to why you’re here and what must be done.”

The sphinx bounded past Izzy and she followed it through rooms of stone, metal and glass, each full of ancient and wonderful objects. Sculptures of humans in strange outfits and frightening masks leered at her from the dark as they weaved in and out of podiums and pillars. Glittering jewellery and sharp weapons illuminated the way.

They slowed when they approached a medium-sized painting of many colours. A mountain surged upwards through the centre with a cacophony of creatures scattered all over it. Lions, dragons, horses, fish, and reptiles all looked upwards to the peak, where a raven perched. As they came to a halt in front of the painting, the animals appeared to shift and squirm, while the raven turned its head and unfurled its black wings.

“I thought you’d show up here one day, sphinx,” it crowed. Its beady eyes met Izzy’s and it bowed its head. “Welcome, Isobel.”

She looked back at the sphinx, her eyes wide. “This is amazing! How do you know my name?” she said to the raven.

“It’s my purpose to know. Long ago I was one of Odin’s messengers and I flew all across the world carrying whispers of thought and memory. It is also my purpose to help you now. You have been through what no child should and for that I am sorry.”

Izzy shrunk into herself. She didn’t like how exposed she felt.

“Love, curiosity and innocence,” the raven continued, “are the rights that all are born with, yet yours were never allowed to flourish. I will guide you back to them.”

“That’s rubbish,” Izzy said. “I’ve been punished because of what I did. I don’t deserve love.”

“No, child. That’s what he told you, but he lies.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?”

“’Don’t ask questions.’ Isn’t that what he always says to you when you ask about your mother? There’s a reason he wants to crush your curiosity. Deep down you already know I’m not lying, but I will prove it to you. Come, we must go and find your innocence. Bring your spear.”

The raven flapped its wings and took to the air. When it reached the left edge of the painting, it slid out and its silhouette appeared on the wall. Izzy dashed after it, the sphinx at her side, as it followed the contours and corners of the walls, leading her back the way they came until they reached a towering white statue that rose up through the middle of a winding staircase. The raven flew up the side of the staircase and Izzy stared at the peaceful, robed giant that dwarfed everything else she had seen that night. Her legs burned as they climbed higher and higher until, at last, they ran out of stairs.

The room they entered was so quiet that Izzy tip-toed so as not to disturb its silence. Unfamiliar symbols and beautiful ceramics surrounded her, as well as ceremonial dresses and fans. The sphinx's paws padded softly and the raven’s silhouette fluttered gently along the glass display cases.

“Here,” the raven whispered.

It had stopped by an innocuous full-length mirror. Izzy gave the raven a puzzled look, but she walked up to the mirror. She saw her thin, pale face staring back at her, covered in scratches and bruises, and her long, black hair hanging limp past her shoulders. Her plain white t-shirt was worn and stained, and she could see her elephant socks poking through a hole in her running shoes. She quickly glanced away.

“This is just a stupid mirror,” she shot at the raven.

“Keep looking,” it replied.

The sphinx rubbed up against her leg. “He knows. Trust him,” it said to her.

She sighed and turned her gaze back to the mirror. As she stared at her reflection the image of herself appeared to grow. Shadows were crawling out from the background, covering her skin and her clothes. The whole mirror was descending into darkness.

“What’s happening?” she cried.

Raven wings flapped and squawks filled the air, while the sphinx uttered a low snarl.

“Look away!” the raven called. “We’ve been tricked! It’s an Ungaikyō, a vengeful spirit, a mirror in the clouds!”

But try as she might Izzy could not tear her gaze away from the two pits of orange fire where her eyes should be. What had been her reflection was now the size of a grown woman, dark and wreathed in flame. It held her silver spear in one hand, which shone with a blinding light.

“Isobel,” it said in a hushed tone. The voice was laced with the crackle of static energy.

Izzy’s body was frozen. She wanted to run, but her limbs were brittle as ice. Tears ran down her cheeks as she squeaked, “What are you?”

“You don’t know? But how could you? You were only a baby. I am the reason you’re here. That crumpled note you found stuffed away in the back of your wardrobe — you knew what it meant even though you didn’t want to admit it to yourself. Look at it again.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, my darling.” The voice was gentle and the fire around the figure seemed to dim.

Izzy reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out the piece of wrinkled paper that she had found earlier that day.

Dear Isobel,

I never thought I could love anyone so much. I’m not sure quite why I’m writing this, but I think it’s because I’m scared. Of losing you. He’s been getting more and more erratic and angry lately, so this is just in case. I plan to take you away very soon so we can be free and liv

The last word trailed off in a slash of ink. The note was headed 17^th April 2012: three days after her birthday, the year she was born.

“I wrote that note, Isobel,” the shadow said.

“I know, mum,” Izzy struggled to get the words out as her lip trembled. “He always told me you died giving birth to me. That I killed you.” She wiped the note to save it from the wetness of her tears.

The fire returned, blazing and wrathful. “That was never true. Never! I heard him coming, threw the note in a corner where I hoped he wouldn't look, and it was that same day that he took both my life and your innocence. And for that, we will have our revenge. Look at me, my love.”

Izzy gazed again into the fiery eyes and for a moment they were the sweet chocolate brown of her own, but with wrinkles touching the edges. Then, the fire consumed them once more.

“Step into the mirror. I can’t give you back the childhood you should’ve had, but together we will free you of that monster,” her mother said.

The silhouette of the raven appeared on the side of the mirror, and the sphinx stood bravely at her heel.

“I was wrong,” said the raven, “this is not the path I foresaw, but I see now it is the right one.”

“We’re with you,” said the sphinx, and gave her a nudge of encouragement.

She closed her eyes and stepped forward into the dark shadow of her mother’s embrace. For a brief second, she felt burning heat on her skin, and then a damp cold that she knew all too well settled in. She was in the living room of the dingy flat in Bermondsey, London that she had grown up in. The silver spear was still shining in her hand and although she didn’t look behind her, she knew her mother was there.

Sitting in front of her, slumped in the armchair, was the monster that she had lived in fear of all her life. Her father.

He sat up, red-eyed, blotchy-faced, and took a second to register that she was standing there.

“What are you doing?” he grunted. When she didn’t answer him, he swelled like a grotesque balloon and raised himself to his feet.

“Answer me, you lazy piece of shit!” he yelled. “Did you clean the bathroom like I told you? Why are there still dishes in the sink?” He was looming over her when he caught sight of the spear she was holding.

“What’s that?” he said. She saw his greedy eyes linger on the shimmering metal.

“It’s for mum,” she replied. And she screamed as she ran forward and shoved its silver tip into his black heart with all her strength.

She screamed as he fell to the floor and her small body collapsed on top of his.

She screamed as she knew he was dead and her mother had had her revenge.

And she screamed as she was free.