Writings on Various Themes and Melodies

And thanks to Tray for the prompt: Fish, Muffin, Anchor!

Staring out over the water, Quin took a deep breath, letting the wind wash over her, throwing the loose strands of her hair back across her neck, cooling, soothing, and smelling of salt and brine. She grinned. Her hair had been all but unmanageable since they'd set sail, and she'd finally given up, sliced all but a few inches off, and let the rest go, more or less. It was significantly better. Her father would have been shocked; she looked like one of the dock bums. She hadn't been in uniform in weeks, possibly months, her gun was still concealed under her jacket, and her face was finally starting to feel human again, out from under that armor. The other day, she'd actually smiled!

"Hey, girlie, you plannin' on standin' there all day? Because the anchor's done, and you're blockin' the stow."

She glanced up, and stepped aside. Gora was a rail-thin bloke, a bit darker-skinned than her, his hair tied back in a handful of braids. He'd claimed that in his past, he'd had razors and weights braided into them, turning his own hair into a weapon, but Quin had her doubts about that. Gora could spin a yarn with the best of them - he must've had six or seven different explanations for the scar that cut across his thin lips, let alone the notch in his ear.

The ship was nominally a peaceful one, but there were contested waters on this sea, and sometimes the wars would find you, whether you wanted them to or not. Quin found it difficult to care about this - she'd been fighting with fireballs and walls of energy-blades and swords that could slice through the wall of an orbital station, worn armor that had runes to protect it from the vacuum of space, seen lasers focus the gravitational pull of an entire moon on one ship - pirates scouring the open waters was not something she much cared about, at this point.

"Yer sister was lookin' for ya," Gora said, as he looped the chain around the hooks. "She said somethin' about helpin' her with the fish from yesterday."

Quin sighed. "Yeah, I'm sure she did. Thanks, Gora." She turned reluctantly away from the stiff wind and headed below-decks to find Daria.

"Hey, there you are!" Daria grinned at her over the remaining half of her muffin.

"There you are," Quin retorted. "What's up?"

"Stars and erections," her sister replied, pulling the little pastry apart. "How's the rolling ocean?"

"It's the same as it was." Quin sat down across the table, tapping the plate with one finger. "But I assume you have a reason for pulling me down here?"

"Yeah." Daria glanced back towards the door, took a breath, and looked back at Quin. "I found your notes."

"...you found my notes."

"Yeah."

"You mean the notes that I had encrypted, locked in a secret compartment of a locked chest that was hidden at the bottom of my wardrobe? Those notes?"

"Er, yeah. Those notes."

Quin ran a hand through her hair, wincing as it caught on one of the salt-crusted tangles. "Okay, then. I do have about a thousand questions, comments, and things to ...say to you. But let's hear your questions out first, get this cleared out of the way--"

"That you can better go on to the rage portion?"

"Well, I really thought snooping through my stuff was a phase you would eventually grow out of! So, yes!"

Daria grinned, a bit infuriatingly. "Okay, then! First off, where are we actually going? Does the crew even know?"

"The navigator knows, and two others. That was the necessary number. No one else was supposed to know. But I guess that doesn't matter all that much now!"

"Oh, come on," she replied, nibbling another chunk of the muffin. "Who'm I going to tell?"

"That's really not the point. An answer for an answer, now - why did you go looking through my stuff?"

She shrugged. "I guess force of habit? Originally, I was just looking to see if you had a pair of gloves I could wear to check the rigging, since it was starting to leave blisters, but I got a bit carried away, and then I noticed the lock..."

"Where'd you get the key?"

"I picked it. Oh, don't look so upset! I used the chant - it's not broken, or anything. You forget, I know your work pretty well. And then the encryption is my specialty, so that was an easy one."

Quin sighed, gritting her teeth. "Okay, that's... not the worst answer you could have. Though yes, I am still just a little bit upset! Just a little."

"So who are you working for?"

"At the moment? No one." She sat back. "It's a little complicated. You know the original force was supposed to have this rendezvous, but things got... just a little complicated."

"This sounds like quite a tale," Daria said brightly, leaning back. "Should I set the charms?"

Quin glared at her. "You might as well. If you've found the notes, there's really no reason to wait on this - I was going to tell you when we landed, anyway, this just bumps up the timeframe a little while. I would have preferred to keep it to myself, but obviously sisterly curiosity trumps all!"

"It always does," she replied over her shoulder, drawing a symbol with her finger on the now-closed door.

"Well, you know the mercenaries were having trouble anyway. We'd had a string of bad luck a few miles long, and it was starting to show - the consultant we hired, remember - maybe three years back - went missing about eighteen months ago. The ship he was supposed to be infiltrating crashed in some jungle three sectors away, and nobody knew where he or the info had gotten to. That whole area is lousy with pirates, so it was a tossup on whether or not we'd ever actually recover it, especially if someone figured out he was worth something. Most likely scenario, of course, is the whole damn ship burned up and we'll never know what happened.

"So in the meantime, my COs are getting antsy - they all want something to happen, they want to see somebody fall, or somebody rise, but this back-and-forth isn't doing any of us any good. And obviously, the rank and file is just as sick of it as they are. Harot, that devil's asslick, finally decides to split off - about two and a half of the fleets followed him. They ran like rabbits, figuring the rest of the command was going to come after them - last I heard, the whole lot of them was in system V, starting to splinter.

"Literally the next morning, somebody finds Fowler in a bar with his aorta seared in half and about three pounds of silver in his guts; somehow he wound up in one of the pockets of the Barth Riots, on Devania. So now it's down to Ruiz, Talbot, and Dirkson, and none of them agree on a damned thing. Eight months back, we lost another fleet, about ten or fifteen of the ranking captains got together and split, and the guys Talbot sent after them joined up, rather than coming back or bringing them down.

"Ruiz and Dirkson are looking like they're going to have some kind of a fucking duel over this thing, like that's the best way to solve it, and Talbot's cracking under the pressure, last thing I heard he had somebody shot for breaking armor codes. So me, Rickard, Latven, and Perry put together our lease, turned in most of our shit, and went on leave. I think Perry's gonna disappear, there's a database now for deserters to pick out of, Rickard and Latven plan on lying low until they see who comes out on top, and I headed out for Tratsphoer."

Daria shook her head. "Damn. I knew things were bad, but... Starcurse, Quin, I had no idea they were that far gone. So are you acting on one of the dissidents' orders, or looking for a new command?"

"Neither." She grinned fiercely. "I took a caravan to Tratsphoer. Halfway there, I stumble on a little nowhere town that's executing somebody for murder, theft, and parole-breaking. I check out the bills, and recognize the style - it's fuckin' Jeb Schmidt, whose agents apparently got killed in the crossfire when things went bad. No idea why he wasn't laying low, but at that point, it's too late to do much but stay out of the way. I put in a bid for his personal effects, and found the papers along with - he should've had those burned the second he was compromised, but he probably thought he could shoot his way out of it. Moron.

"So now, I'm not sure. This operative could be anybody - if they caught up with him, odds are he'd be a crater in about ten seconds, and I don't know if he's expecting that or not. If he thinks his contract is still good, he could be willing to wait a long time. If he's been keeping up on rumors, he's probably pretty edgy by now, and he must have some idea that the command is a mess by now. He might not even be there.

"But if he's got good info, if he's got a clue, and if it looks like he's any good - who knows? Maybe I can pick the deserter database, too. We'll find out when we make landfall."

I've been looking for a way to pin this guy down. There's a more complicated backstory that's alluded to, here - the asteroid belt he's looking for is one where he once spent a few afternoons as a child, and found the ruins of an ancient civilization. It's where/how he learned the rune-work that's become his signature magic. But this is a good way to put him in the right place at the right time! Many thanks to Dann for the prompt: Pirate, Impact, Violin. It was just about exactly what I needed.

Bolt grimaced as he stood up, straightening his shoulders. The engine was finally going back up to the last gear, but damned if he wasn't two weeks behind schedule - he should've done this at the last port, he thought, sighing. The whole thing was just getting ridiculous - a courier gig on this hulk was probably a mistake.

His hand trailed along the ridge of the engine as he wound his way back to the ladder up to the ship proper. He put the toolbox down, hauled himself up hand-over-hand, and turned down to the cot he'd tossed together in the pilot room - more room for cargo if he didn't have to sleep in one of the other rooms, right? The ship thrummed on underneath him, back to her usual pitch, away from the backup engines.

The asteroid belt wasn't the one - he knew that by now. He was pretty sure he was in the right sector, and certain he was in the right system - that narrowed it down to a few hundred years searching, over the thousands he might have expected otherwise, he thought, stretching out over the blankets. Ah, well.

He closed his eyes, and his hand dropped over the side of the bed; the toolbox was a comforting weight underneath, and he smiled.

***

The delivery wasn't too far behind, fortunately - if he could make it up between trips this way, his final check in should be relatively punctual. Bolt grumbled to himself as he lugged the three boxes out of the hold, carried them up the ramp, and slid his chip along the edge of the ident-strip to rent a hand-truck. Of course this bloody planet had a customs process that involved four different licenses - of course it did! He should've gotten more sleep before checking into port he thought, pulling the metal frame along, his delivery stacked neatly over the wheels.

"Hey, this one's for Demi Six," he called, as the guard held up a clipboard.

"Yeah, just sign here. Got a slip for it?"

Bolt fished in his pocket for a moment, and pulled out the little receipt for the courier service. The guard stamped it, the planet's seal glowing briefly as the ink set into the paper.

"Thanks," he said, pushing the cart down along the dock. Demi Six was about three blocks off the lift, he thought, if he could remember which lift to grab.

A ship's crew passed him going the other way, the patches on their shoulders identifying them in some code he was unfamiliar with. They were a grim bunch, eyes set mainly ahead, none of the usual merriment crews showed on their way out of ports like this one. He stepped into the lift, pulled the lever, and waited for it to pull him down to the planet's main surface.

The receiving service was a complex of towers, variously faceted, somewhere between utilitarian and graceful in architecture. He pushed the cart through the gate, slid his chip along the ident strip again, and signed the boxes off to the clerk for the fee the man handed him back, in local currency - he wouldn't bother getting it changed here, he thought, sliding the bills into his pocket. The rate was usually better a little farther out along the edges.

He managed to get back into his ship with a minimum of red tape, got himself cleared for exit, and slid out of the port fairly smoothly. The trip was another week and a half to his next stop, but he'd have to refuel there. He closed his eyes, sliding into a trance, humming under his breath.

The ship's display appeared over his vision as he closed his eyes, levels and displays glowing brightly, somehow more clear, easier understood, when he saw them in meditation, than on their screens. He was glad he'd chosen this model, even if it did need a ridiculous amount of upkeep on a regular basis; having a ship console that he could poke tools at on both levels was well worth it.

After establishing a reasonable itinerary, he hummed the sequence to close the display, and the lights dimmed, leaving him in a more normal trance. He let his consciousness slide into the easy silence of a full meditation.

The impact came, more or less, as a complete surprise, jarring his entire body, and the world around him. When he opened his eyes, everything was upside down, and he was braced against the ship's manual console, three or twenty sharp things poking into him at various angles.

Stunned, Bolt pulled himself up, staring around at the ship - everything had been scrambled around the cabin. He grabbed the edge of the console and whirled, staring at the console - nothing was amiss, according to - no! There it was. A breach on the hold's angled side... but that didn't make any sense at all, he thought, pulling that piece of the display up to the full resolution.

With a startling click, the display went dark - and a moment later, so did everything else.

***

When Bolt opened his eyes, there was a bright light on the edges of his vision, and everything else was still dark. He tried to turn his head - his neck was stiff and sore, and his arms were pinned behind him - every muscle in his body was knotted up.

"What the fuck," he said, conversationally.

There was a thump from somewhere in front of him, and footsteps. A hand pulled the blindfold off his face, and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.

One of the men from the crew he'd seen on his way to Demi Six, he realized, as things swam into foucs. Tall, red hair combed back to his neck, sharp angled features, and blue-grey eyes, cold now, as they regarded him, evaluating.

"You weren't carrying shit," the man said, baritone voice rasping a bit. "Dorian's happy, I guess he's been looking for a violin for a while, but everything else was useless."

Bolt almost laughed. Pirates - of course they were pirates. Just his luck. "I could've told you that," he replied, shrugging - or almost shrugging, since his shoulders didn't really want to move. "Why would you be attacking a courier vessel anyway - some kind of death wish?"

The other man gave him an amused look. "We're not stupid, mate," he said, walking back across the room. "You're a freelancer, there's not much risk on you."

"Damn." Bolt sighed - so much for that tack. He frowned. "How'd you know that when you boarded?"

A shadow passed the pirate's face. "Don't ask stupid questions," he said.

They hadn't. That was... interesting. Either he was mistaken, and this was some kind of a hostile mercenary force who'd escaped his database - not entirely unprecedented, they cropped up all the time - or this was some kind of utterly suicidal pirate captain. Or, somewhat disturbingly, there was some kind of new tech that could give enough of a reading on his ship to tell them anything they wanted to know about him.

"Why'm I still alive?"

The man grinned at him. "See, now that was less of a stupid question. We're not sure if there's any value in you," he explained, crossing his arms behind his head. "And don't bother trying to answer, because we both know what you're going to say."

Bolt almost laughed. Of course there wasn't - and of course he'd say there was. But who knew? Maybe there was someone out there who'd ransom him, and he wouldn't wind up chained to a pick in the middle of nowhere, or out an airlock. He was glad he'd gotten the self-destruct bit on his chip - the thing would be a useless scrap by now.

***

The shouting was getting louder, and more frequent. Bolt looked up towards the corner of the ceiling, where it was coming from. Things had been tense, uneasy, in his captors' ship for the past few days - longer, even. It had been, he thought, about three weeks-universal since they took him. He'd gotten the impression there was a rift in the crew, or at least some unhappiness. If he'd had the knack for it, he would've been trying to exploit this for his freedom. But Bolt found himself at a loss where it came to figuring people. They never seemed to work the way they were supposed to.

His guards were usually the same three people, on a fairly regular schedule - they'd drop in every few hours to make sure he hadn't broken out of the room or anything, leave food, and make sure the door was secure. The room was about four feet by six, and mostly bare, but at least he wasn't tied up anymore - his body had just about healed.

One was the tall red-head who'd been there the first day - his name was Yuri, Bolt figured out, later. The others were Dorian, the violinist, who turned out to be a slim, blond boy with a snub nose and laughing blue eyes, and Tatiana, a well-muscled black woman who wore her dark hair in braids pinned back, and spoke quietly, with some authority. All three of them had been on edge, for the past few days. He wondered if they knew he noticed.

He wasn't entirely surprised when he heard the shots.

He was a bit more surprised when the door swung open and Tatiana stepped in, gun held at the hip. "You," she said, gesturing. "You want to live?"

Bolt stood up. "Yeah, I kinda do."

"Good." She held the door open, and stepped back out. "How good are you with a gun?"

He winced. "Not very. Can do a bit of spellwork, though."

The woman glanced back, looked him over once, and nodded. "Alright. Here's now it is - you might have gotten some of this. Our captain's an idiot, he doesn't know he's an idiot, and we've just decided we're not going to die for it. A few idiots think their chances are better standing with him."

"Makes sense. Where do I come in?"

"That depends," she said over her shoulder, leading the way down the hall. "What kind of spells do you know?"

He wracked his brain furiously. "Shields are what I'm best with," he said, "But I can do some damage if you give me a little juice."

Tatiana grinned. "Juice we've got. Can you fry the - no. Can you fix the light system if you fry it?"

He nodded.

"Good. Can you fry someone with the light system?"

"Should be able to, if you know where they are."

It wasn't the first time he'd killed someone, he reminded himself, as he shoved both hands through the panel and grabbed the exposed wire. Not even the first time he'd done it like this. But it still shook him, as he felt himself spread through the system, and focused the power. It was easy, too easy, to convince the energy running through the wires that this was the shortest path - and then, just like that, there was a strangled scream, and everything was over.

When he'd gotten their ship fixed, they dropped him off on the nearest planet, sans his ship - they'd scrapped it, Yuri told him. Another brilliant decision by their late fearless leader. If you didn't understand how something worked, destroy it. Bolt found himself surprisingly more upset than he expected - apparently, he'd gotten more attached to the ship than he had realized. Yuri handed him a few bills - enough to keep him alive for a while, until he found his legs, he saw, though by no means as much as he'd had when they'd captured him.

He watched the ship click out of port, sighing. Back to square one - or not quite, he realized, as he leaned back against the wall, and felt his ankle bump against the familiar weight of his toolbox. That was alright, then. He could figure the rest out as he went.

Continuing last piece, here's the one involving the battle-scarred Fae in rune-engraved armor.

The view was longer than wide, the sun beating down on the waving grass. Liron bent to examine the object that lay there, in a hollow of the dried grasses, where the sun glinted off of it, reddish and shining. It was the head of a javelin. She glanced back up at Basir, whose lips were tight, watching. He shook his head - don't touch it - and continued. There were signs of a grave struggle everywhere, subtly. Here, a place where someone had thrashed, in struggle or death throes; here, a splash of blood on a waving thistle stem. There were more weapons, too, all broken pieces - a long sliver of cold iron, which puzzled her for a long moment. No one made weapons out of cold iron, unless they were fighting faeries or gods, but it had clearly come from an edged weapon.

A short, sharp whistle split the ear, and she stood quickly - Basir was standing on the edge of the meadow, where the grass ended, and the trees began. There was a shape there, something that looked human, on the ground. She sprinted towards him, touching the hilt of her dagger briefly, just to confirm it was there. He gestured, shaking his head, as she approached, and she slowed - no danger. The body was smaller than a man's, and if it were not for the many old scars, and the scene behind them, she would've thought him a boy. But this was no child, nor even a youth - the face that looked up at them was young, fair, but the eyes... the eyes were that of an ancient. She frowned. He had not moved.

"There is some weirding on this place," Basir told her, looking around again. "I had a feeling, but - I think this battle was many years ago. He," waving towards the fallen Fae warrior, "is still alive, but can neither move nor speak." The sorcerer looked around. "I think there may be something on the other side - see what you can figure out, examining him." He walked off, leaving Liron with the unnerving warrior.

She knelt, looking down at the fallen form. The helm had been removed, and lay under his arm, and his hair was tousled, fair, and looked as though he'd been working hard. The armor was all of some fine metal, and shone brightly in colors hard to discern when the sun flashed on it - some copper, she guessed, and some silver, and most definitely some kind of magick. She leaned closer, and the sharp lines she'd taken for scratches stood out more clearly - engraved, so fine it was hard to read, was a swirling runic script. Written in a style she'd only seen once before, it filled every inch of the metal. She whistled under her breath, taken aback by the handiwork on display. It must have taken years, decades, for even a smith of the Fair Folk to craft something with such fine detail and skill. The lettering extended to the helm under his arm, she saw, and all over the armor. It was beautiful, and probably quite deadly. She tried to remember if Basir could read such a script, and stood, rubbing her eyes, to call him.

He was standing behind her, a smooth stone in his hand, a curious expression on his face. "Liron, I need a bird's eye view of this," he said, rubbing the stone absently. "Can you tell me what stands out to you?"

Liron nodded, and shifted her shape, reaching for the fine feathers of a hawk, the sleek shape, the control - as a kestrel, she looked back up at Basir from the ground. He smiled, and stooped to pick her up from the ground. She nodded once in thanks, and he gave her a quick thrust into the air.

For only a moment, the scene was quite normal - the weapon pieces flashed, standing out to her sharp eyes - and then she saw it. The wild had crept in on the east and the south sides of the meadow, and what had once been grassland was now underbrush, some trees, old and gnarled, and weeds. The east faded, she saw, going downhill, where rain and wind and time had worn the land away into a steep hillside. In the north, a dry riverbed stopped short at the end of the meadow; where it had gone, she could not tell. Perhaps underground, perhaps around to the hillside. On the west alone was more grassland, but even that side bore a strange, marked difference to the land Basir now stood on. The few trees inside the circle - clear, now that she looked for it - were far, far younger than the forest beyond them. She finished her last circle, and descended, letting her shape return to the girl's as she landed.

Basir raised his eyebrows in query, and she shook her head.

"It looks... odd. As if time had set a circle around this place, and progressed everywhere but here. A river was turned away, to the north, and landslides took the east away, but stopped short at the edge of it - even the way we came, the land just doesn't look the same."

He nodded. "Almost a perfect circle, with a few flat spots on the perimeter?"

"Exactly. What is it?"

He looked thoughtful, and turned towards the wood. "Let's step out of here - do you still have that javelin?"

She nodded, tapping the stone, where she'd stuck it through her belt.

"Good. I want to be sure we can get back in, if need be - but I don't think talking about this in the circle is a good idea."

They walked past the fallen soldier, through the trees; on alert, Liron sensed it immediately when they stepped through the edge of the circle, a tangible shift in the air around them - lighter, somehow. The sun shone, still, but the light wind that had stirred the grass in the circle was harsh now, whipping at the treetops. Basir led her about a hundred paces through the trees, following a narrow deer path, and stopped at a small open space, about as wide as two men lying head to toe. He sat against one of the great trees, leaning back against the thick roots.

Liron prowled the perimeter of the small clearing, more out of habit than any real sense of danger, before sitting down opposite him, on a root the size of her torso that twisted briefly out of the ground.

"Do you know the ballad of Tomán?" he asked, fishing his pipe out of his vest.

She nodded. "The son of Raegar, who led the charge against... ah, I don't remember now, but it was very gallant, his charger white as the pale snow and just as deadly, and there were several lines detailing the blue of his eyes." She chewed this inside of her lip, trying to remember it. "There was something that went badly wrong, ah, let me see... his own son betrayed him, that was it. He'd been compromised somehow by the enemy, a love affair with their general's squire, I think?"

Nodding, Basir drew breath through his pipe, and pulled a flask out of his vest as well. He took a pull and passed it across to her. After a long drink, she handed it back to him, thoughtful, now.

"So let's see. The battle was lost, but Tomán escaped with his life, grievously wounded. He turned to dark and evil magicks," she paused, sketching half a bow in his direction from her seat, "And swore revenge on, for some reason, the general whose squire had eloped with his son. Can you say willful ignorance?"

Basir laughed aloud, and cut her off with a sweep of his hand. "That's about the gist of it, aye," he said, adjusting his pipe. "Now - do you know who that was?"

She blinked. "I'd assume not Tomán..."

"You'd assume correctly. Tomán still lives, somewhere; legend has him holed up somewhere deep in the bowels of the earth, in fiery darkness."

Liron raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Fiery darkness?"

He flicked ash at her. "You're getting sidetracked by poetic turn of phrase, dear," he pointed out. "The point is, that was not Tomán, but there is clearly a deep magic about the place, and the boy lives - but cannot be moved, nor move himself, and the entire place is set about with spells of ancient protection, even against Time herself."

"His son," she breathed. "He couldn't kill his own son, but he couldn't let him go free - oh, gods, that is so much worse than death."

Basir nodded silently.

"There's nothing we can do."

"I'm glad you've come to that conclusion," he replied, drily. "Once upon a time, you would have demanded we save the lad."

She made a face at him. "What, and die in the ensuing explosion as Time unwound itself? Once upon a time, I was an idiot, Basir. How did you ever put up with me?"

The sorcerer laughed, sliding the pipe back into his vest. "We may never know," he intoned, standing. "The javelin, if you please."

She stood, made as if to toss it to him, and thought better, and handed it across the gap. He flashed a smile as he pocketed it, and she grinned in return.

"One more odd puzzle piece," she mused, running a hand over her hair. "Now. On our way?"

"On our way."

So... someone requested more excerpts of NaNoWriMo. This isn't exactly that - it's the short story that kicked off The Tide Game, which was this year's win. That latter piece is still... well, it's in rough shape. The scenes that I'm happy with don't work posted out of context, mostly, and the scenes that are needed for context are... really, really poor quality. But this story, I think I can work with. So here! Part one, as a hopefully acceptable compromise.

The cave echoed, faintly; she kicked the wall, listened to the clank go back, the wall, come all the way... yeah. Again, with her wrists. It wasn't altogether uncomfortable, though that might be from being too exhausted to really give her nerves all the attention they needed. Too much time, and too much energy spent on keeping her thoughts far away from anything serious. She clanked the wall again, and listened for the echoes.

A light came, this time, with the faint clattering, at the far entrance of the cave. There were boots, now, echoing down from the other direction, and she tried not to giggle at the reversal. Pay attention now, Dain. Pay attention. Focus. Hey... ah, there they were, several booted guards. She looked up, past the heavy scaled tunic and the weapons, to the badges and insignia. One of them swore, and shook his head.

"Who the hell thought this was a good idea?" He glared at Dain, as if it was her fault, and sighed. "He's as good as gone, in here, if we don't figure this out."

One of the other guards made a noise, and glanced back towards the light. "He's as good as gone if we leave him, too, Gareth," she replied. "And I would think he could handle this alright." She looked down at Dain, who wasn't bothering to look disinterested; this was the most interesting thing that had happened in the past twelve hours. "She's pretty well subdued, wouldn't you say?"

The lead guard, apparently - his badge was hard to read, in the torchlight - made a face and shrugged. "It looks like we don't have a choice," he said, pulling out a key. "You three, stay here. Baro and Edan, you come with me." He turned, and two of the troop followed him, leaving Dain alone with the other half.

"You probably aren't this stupid, but just in case, don't try anything destructive," the guard closest, who had spoken before, told her. "This isn't something I'm in favor of, but you've still got to stand trial, so we can't just bash your skull in and leave you here."

One of the other guards grunted. "You probably would anyway, but he wouldn't like it, eh, Tai?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "I believe in the due process of law, like a good officer. Shut up."

Dain shrugged, finally finding her throat semi-clear. "I don't know what any of you are talking about, but I'm not planning on... trying anything." She held up her manacles, smiling slightly. "Even if I was, this is something of a deterrent, wouldn't you say?"

The first guard - Tai - grinned. "Well, yes. That's the general idea of the things, you know. To deter people from trying anything stupid."

They were spared further conversation by the return of the echoing footsteps - more hurried, this time. The rest of the troop returned, and the man apparently in charge glanced down at her again, swearing under his breath. "Tai, Edan, get those things unhooked. Apparently there's a place further down that's got the fortifications they were talking about."

"Sonuvabitch!" Tai dropped quickly, and slipped the other end of the chains off the wall, grabbing them to hook around her scimitar's handle. "Still don't do anything stupid," she said quietly, firmly.

The other guard, Edan, slipped the other wall hook, and shook his head. "This is a terrible idea," he said, reaching across to unhook the catch on the ankles.

Gareth gave him a dirty look. "I know! Look, can we stop talking about how this is a shitty place to be? I wasn't the one who started the fucking revolution, alright?"

Dain winced, and Tai gave her a dry look. "Yeah, don't bother."

Another torch appeared at the opening of the cavern, and Gareth took a deep breath. "Out of time, lovelies. Let's move." He turned back to the light, and cupped a hand around his mouth. "Identify yourselves!"

The voice that came back was painfully familiar; strong, resonant, and rough, it was generally accompanied by some form of trumpeting. "Just one of me, Captain. I sent the courier back - he's needed out there. As are the rest of you, actually." The torch, as it approached, illuminated the face, harried and haggard over a suit of well-worn leather armor, entirely free from the gilt that usually accompanied the Emperor's ceremonial battle-wear. He grinned tiredly as all four guards glanced at it in surprise before saluting. "Crowns tend to get in the way, when one has to do any real fighting." He looked past the guards, to where Dain was trying to decide whether to look defiant or fade into the floor. The silence stretched out for a moment. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

"This was a terrible idea," she said, faintly.

Gareth growled under his breath and gestured jerkily towards the darker end of the cave. "Sire, you are apparently the only one here who's been briefed about this, so I must ask you to lead the way."

Emperor Xerxes VI shifted his gaze back towards the mouth of the cave, where for the first time, faint, barely discernable noises were beginning to echo down. "I think not, Captain. The battle out there needs men rather more than I do." As the captain looked uncertain, he added, "That is an order, if you need it to be."

He sighed. "Let's move, troop. Tai - get them down to safety, and then follow us back up, hit the barracs if you need orders. Understood?"

The guard nodded, remembered herself, saluted, and turned to follow the Emperor, who had already turned down into the darkness, his torch casting their shadows wildly back towards the light.

The chamber at the end of the winding tunnel was small, sparse; there was a tap on the far wall, and a low doorway, darkened, next to it. A single cot, several small ventilation grilles, and a fireplace... it was about six paces in length, two or three in width. The emperor unhooked a key from around his neck, beneath the armor, and handed it to Tai.

"This stays with you. Do not give it up, even to Gareth," he told her quietly. "When the fighting has been pushed out of the capital, return for me - the time will come, I will yet be needed."

She nodded, pushed the heavy door shut, and locked it behind her. As her footsteps receded down the cave, Xerxes VI reached up and turned three heavy deadbolts into place.

"Could be important," he muttered. "Shouldn't even arise, though." He sat down heavily on the cot, still musing. "Unless they take the key off her body," he explained finally, looking up at Dain, "The door won't even be visible. Not an easy trick, but it does come in handy."

"...Ah," she replied, hesitantly. It... wasn't a summary execution, there was at least that.

Emperor Xerxes I rubbed a hand over his face and extended the torch to the fireplace; with a word whispered under his breath, it caught instantly. Even in the firelight, his eyes showed up greenish, reptilian, penetrating. His leathery skin, though mostly appearing human, took on a distinctly beaded pattern and a reddish hue around his neck and ears; the effect continued, presumably throughout his body - at least showing on the back of his hands, clawed rather than nailed. Powerfully built, instantly recognizable, this was still only the third time she'd seen him up close. He looked up from the fire, studying her in return, for a long moment.

"Here," he said finally, handing her the torch. "Put this back up."

It didn't occur to her to do otherwise. She crossed the room, her gait only somewhat diminished by the manacles, and hoisted the torch into its sconce easily.

She turned to find him watching her, still. "So. It was a bad idea, you say?"

Dain nearly laughed. Of course he knew what she'd meant. "Not one of my better ones, anyway," she answered.

He grinned at her in return, looking worn. "You can sit," he told her, leaning back against the wall, "If you wish. I suspect we will be stuck here for some time."

She sat down against the wall, beneath the torch, and realized she was more tired than she'd thought; her body had been suppressing it for some time, and she'd ignored one of the hard and fast rules of a courier's life, and taken none of the many chances to sleep in the past few days. She was unsure of why - she'd certainly been in worse places to sleep, though probably not in more dangerous situations... that time with the bear nearly qualified.

The scene in the room changed very little, the few times she did open her eyes. Xerxes used the tiny desk next to the cot and wrote, for some time, or stared into the flames. At one point, she awakened fully to the smell of something cooking.

"Aha." He handed her a hunk of flat bread, and a rough-hewn stone bowl, quite warm. "Someone appears to have stocked it well."

Dain took both, not showing her surprise. "Oh. Um - thank you." The titles and proprieties occurred to her only belatedly - she did not bother appending them. After the past few days, it would be a hollow courtesy, and he knew it as well as she did.

The meal over, she took both bowls to the tap and set about rinsing them. The time passed, imperceptibly. Finally, when she could clean them no further without risking the integrity of the hull, she treturned to the business of Waiting.

Perhaps it was the fatal nature of the situation at large, making her bold; perhaps it was the deadliness of the dull blade of boredom, felt for the first time at length in years. Perhaps it was simply the overwhelming curiosity that had so often nearly killed her.

"Were there really no other options?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Than?"

"Than the emperor and the traitor, locked in the same cell."

"Ah. That." He shrugged, turning fully towards her. "Would you believe I was curious?" At her responding expression of clear disbelief, he did laugh aloud. "No. Not solely, anyway. This is the most secure place on the palace grounds, and easily so. That key around the guard's neck - it does not unlock the physical door; those deadbolts can only be turned from this side. The key contains the image of the door, and indeed the room - visually, it appears to be a nondescript wall, unless one has the key. Only the bearer can see through the illusion.

"To answer your more subtle question - there is no prison in reach that would not have put you and your guards in grave danger. Your actions," and here, for the first time, his eyes flashed with quickly concealed anger, "Ensured that the entire palace was overrun to the point of saturation almost immediately, giving us little time for preparation. I could not drive them out at this stage, they were far too prepared for that, the blood rites would've done for the entire city - and so we had a separate strategy altogether.

"The guards will be alright, in the majority, as the defenses were so wholly geared towards myself and the royal contingent leading the charge. One of their few slip-ups. So there was nothing for it, but that I go immediately into hiding, and the royal guard flee. And you - much the same. I don't know if they intended you to melt away and rejoin the attacking force, or to just vanish altogether in the chaos, leaving no trace of their inside link.

"Either way, having you alive to be questioned is most likely an option I rather suspect they did not intend, and therefore an advantage I am unlikely to give up, either by allowing your death, or your escape. So the safest room is this place, for both of us. Likely for the empire." He sighed and handed her the empty bowl. "I could use a drink, if you've still the desire to be cooperative."

Entirely rattled, Dain stood, taking the bowl, and returned it to him, mostly full. "You're taking this... very rationally," she said, as he took a drink. "It caught me more by surprise than you, it seems - I didn't expect things to move so fast."

He smiled. "Well, yes. I've been waiting for them to strike for months now. Certain factions of the Council have more or less sworn alliance already."

A heavy rattling noise sounded through the vents - like several thousand boulders down a mountain. Xerxes glanced at her. "Here comes the cavalry," he said quietly. "You planning on calling a rescue?"

She laughed bitterly. "They find me locked in a cell with the emperor, in the safest room here, last place anyone will look, and you think they'll be mounting a rescue?" He frowned, curious, and she continued; it could hardly hurt. "You were more right than you know. I was supposed to vanish altogether - by blade," she told him. "A part of the plan that somehow didn't manage to come to my attention until my supposed comrade-in-arms drew on me in the immediate aftermath. They find us down here, they'll take the opportunity to run us both through."

He nodded, slowly. "I see. You think--" he stopped, the bowl in his hands. There was a noise, somewhere on the other side of the door. He put the bowl down on the cot next to him very slowly. There was a series of metallic clashes, very faint, and shouting, echoing back and forth; the caverns made distance hard to judge. The voices grew louder, and were cut off quite suddenly. A louder crash, and more voices, harsh and loud, grew close. There were no footsteps; these weren't guards. Dain strained to hear them, wondering if she would recognize any. Xerxes shot her a look, unreadable, before returning his attention to the door. The air was taut. Words began to register through the thick.

"If they'd just picked it up!"

"Yes, I know. Look, someone's - no, shit. That's Fal's blood. This has to be a dead end."

"Just like the old lizard, to fill the ground with dead-end tunnel mazes."

The response was faintly amused, tantalizingly familiar, and Dain tensed automatically. "You're an idiot. These are at least as old as the last dynasty. Did we send someone down both ends, up there at the bend?"

"Of course." She could practically see the smirk.

"Good. That'll be done with Jon and Fal. If they manage to make it back, make sure Kali has her orders. We're not going to find the damned dragon," he finished, his voice going clear as they drew closer. "He's gone to ground. But if we can finish the dissenters, the whole thing won't be in vain."

"Yeah. Ah, damn it. I told you - dead end," came the reply.

"I figured. Let's get this over with, they're butchering us up there." One side of the emperor's mouth quirked up in satisfaction.

"Mmmm. Not exactly the retreat I wanted. We've got to be more careful with recon on the next one, this..." the voice trailed away to inaudibility. They waited several moments in tense silence before Xerxes VI stood quietly and walked over to the door. He put a hand against it and pushed, softly; the entire wall swung away like a door, for a moment, framing the dark and empty cavern before them. Satisfied, he withdrew his hand and let the illusion fade before sitting back down.

"Not long now," Dain said, more to herself than him. He glanced down at her, hesitated a fraction of a moment.

"So. The revolutionary heroes?" His tone was deceptively mild - no need to lay it on thick, after that.

She winced. "That was, unless I miss my guess, Tor, with either Baril or Lucas. And... yes. I thought. Tor had... a lot of push. Everyone was on his side."

"Apparently not." His voice was heavy with irony, and she stared at the door uncomfortably.

"I... wouldn't have thought. Thought... he and Jon were always together. They were the ones all of us looked to."

Xerxes smiled slightly. "There's your answer, girl. 'They.' What good is it overthrowing a government if you still have to share power?"

She shook her head, declining to argue the point, but he pushed on.

"So - if you're answering to a damned dragon, still, answer me this." She glanced back up. "Why?" He surveyed her closely, eyes probing. "Why you, I mean. People don't usually betray their entire country on a whim, even for handsome and charismatic speakers, not in my experience."

Dain rubbed her eyes tiredly. "Gods, you're ruthless. For... the alliance of the Roan Isles," she said, thinking back. It seemed like so long ago - she'd been so passionate, it had seemed so black-and-white, they'd made such damned convincing arguments. By the time the cracks had shown, by the time she'd realized how very morally gray the whole conflict was, it was far too late to simply walk away. Not just her, either - Fal had thought a lot of the same, she thought, but his response was to commit more fully, as if he could somehow force their struggle to be more righteous through sheer willpower. "Now, I - but, there's still that. Why were the embargoes never lifted? Why has the Council never investigated the injustices of that embargo?"

He growled quietly, dangerously; it felt like a suppressed roar, and Dain froze. For a long moment, he was silent, staring at her - controlling himself, she realized.

"Because of the -atrocities- in the Roan Isles," he hissed, finally, his voice like ice. "Because while their ambassadors and diplomats claim, on the floor, that the embargo is strangling their men and their trade, their people know firsthand that any supplies reaching the Isles only touch the red-handed tryants - and their people, more than half of them, live only to provide the blood-price for their rulers' lunacy, and their -decadence-." He stopped, and took a long drink out of the bowl before meeting her eyes again. "Didn't your glorious leaders tell you that?" Even after the edict, I made it clear that the embargo would cease as soon as we were assured of a civil peace. Even the Council--" he paused, correcting himself. "The Council, excepting those who stand to benefit from trade with Roan, of -course-, stood behind it."

Dain took a deep, shuddering breath, forced herself to relax; she hadn't even realized she'd pressed into the wall. "We were told the blood sacrifice was voluntary. Not - not lethal. That was why the other--" she stopped. This was- dangerous. If she finished that sentence... taking a deep breath, she crossed the chasm. "That was why the Thrice factions, from Lodestone and the Syro Shore, were with us. They talked of making it a rite again; talked about stuff like, like ending the persecution of the wizards." She didn't bother mentioning how quickly it had become obvious that the government was allied with ending persecution of wizards; didn't tell him about the time she'd discovered plans for the Anti-Runic Riot last year that had turned violent, in Jon's authority. She had a feeling he knew better than she did exactly how double-edged the revolutionaries had been.

Something had dawned on his features, as he stared at her. "From Syro? Gods. That's why Leid went out of the running," he said, blankly. "I thought... ah, damn it all. That puts Lar in their camp too, doesn't it." He glanced at Dain, half-questioning, and she shook her head.

"Blackmailed. I think. He wasn't in any of the circles, not that I remember. It was a common response to extra pieces."

He nodded. "That's something, anyway." If it's true, he didn't say, for which she was incongruously grateful. He reached over the side of the mat, Dain stood. She went to fill his bowl again, but he caught her hands half there. She fought the reflex to lash out, and something clinked against the metal; the cuffs dropped free.

"Seems pointless, if we're stuck down here anyway," he explained, reaching for the other set. She stood back, rubbing her wrists. "Especially as we appear to both be in the same level of dead if the wrong people come out of this."

There was a searing 'boom' that shook the ground beneath (and above) them, and Xerxes nodded grimly to himself. "There it is," he said aloud. "That's them effectively finished."

Dain nodded mutely.

"So." He fixed her with a thoughtful, searching look. "Was that cooperation, or a foolhardedly - though admittedly brave - attempt at sabotage?"

She shook her head. "Cooperation. I doubt my situation at present can get much worse, short of shoving my hand into the fireplace, or something. If I try to escape and rejoin the other side, I'll be killed in short order - if not by you, than by them. To do nothing and remain in stasis leaves me in the same fairly awful situation. My only shot at improving my lot, right now, appears to be to move in the other direction, which means cooperating in full."

He made a noise deep in his throat, but declined to comment on the entirely self-serving logic in her reasoning. "And here I thought it was my charming personality," he said.

"Hah. I'm unlikely to fall for that twice in one war," she replied. "I didn't realize... well, a lot, about the whole side. And by the time I had, I was too far in to get back out - the only way out was through, I kept telling myself. I thought maybe, once we'd won, I could work things out more peacefully. I told myself the Imperial government was just as bad, and clung to that, even when it was... patently obvious how much of a lie it was. It was an easy narrative. Overhearing that - overhearing Tor - probably too much of a beam of light for even my usual amount of self-deceit to cover up."

"Hmmm." Footsteps began to echo, again, and he said no more.

---

Xerxes held up one hand. "Don't move," he told the guard. "It is almost certainly a trap."

She stopped and turned. "I came down alright," she said uncertainly. "There's blood on the ground, though..."

"Fal's," the prisoner muttered, behind him. He glanced back, catching a tiny, sardonic grin.

"There should be two dead bodies - at least - in the other forks, farther up. I would be surprised if they didn't intend for a few more to wind up here."

The guard looked around, and her eye, by chance or intent, fell on the prisoner. "You," she said, thinking, and stopped.

The emperor remained silent; he had a great deal more information now than he had when he had come down this tunnel, and his spies should be more than equal to following the leads. The courier's continued testimony was, strictly speaking, unnecessary. She knew this, he realized, as she stepped past him, casting a worn smile in his direction.

"You should stand back, then," she said, "Both of you. The magic they use tends to be... explosive."

Tau - muttered something under her breath, but nodded. "Sire, if you would..." she gestured behind them, taking a few leading steps.

He looked once moe at the girl who'd let the revolution into his palace, standing half-turned towards them, waiting. She smiled again, and half-shrugged at him. He hesitated a moment before offering a salute in return. She grinned again, and turned. Tai raised her bow, nocked an arrow, just in case.

Dain stepped forward. There were two muffled booms in quick succession; the floor and ceiling erupted, and the prisoner let out a cry and dove forward in an attempted dodge. Tai dropped the bow to her side, the look in her eyes for just a moment half guilty, and strode forward.

"Oi, you!"

Something stirred, under the rocks, and Xerxes let out the breath he'd been holding. That was... good. He followed Tai; nothing further seemed to be falling, though he felt a tang to the air that put him on edge.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," a faint voice muttered from somewhere under the rubble. Tai began shoving rocks out of the way, and the prone form of an ex-courier appeared, looking rather battered. "Sloppy work, for their usual standards," she remarked, her voice strained under the flippant tone. "Barely lethal at all."

"It wasn't aimed at you," he informed her, as he finally realized what the tang in the air was. "He must've figured out I was down here somewhere - tracked me, somehow. That's a poison you're smelling. It only works on my kind."

"...Oh." By now, combined efforts of the guard and prisoner had extracted her most of the way out of the pile. "Should you be breathing it in?"

He smiled. "It's not a full dose, at this distance, and mainly works through the bloodstream - as you can see, an effect they were rather counting on." For as she stood, there were several spots of thick greenish powder left on her skin, where it showed, and lacerations covered her upper body.

She grinned through the red mask. "That would explain every surface contact being sharpened. Smart work, them."

Tai studied both of them with an expression somewhere between curiosity and suspicion. "Let's get you out of here, all the same," she told him, moving towards the surface.

"Aye." He followed the two of them, adjusting his armor. No more fights today, but the time was drawing very near indeed.

So I was literally in the act of clicking the login button to post this when the power went out for good, the night before last. The morning revealed a telephone pole, cracked about four-six feet from its top, leaning at about a fifteen-twenty degree angle, and the afternoon revealed a tree that had split off entirely at the base, and taken down an entire net of power lines, a block farther south. Describing this to friends prompted "Oh God are you okay!" sort of reactions, but honestly at this point I'm under-awed by this kind of weather. This is the third such storm in two years, and at this point, it's just sort of "...really, another hurricane? Fine." I'm glad power's back on, though. Eating in the dark is more tiresome than you might think.

Now, without further ado, and given the quite unnecessary drama, the thing.

It's my job to tend the spiders. That sounds worse than it is, probably. The kids from the village probably would think so, but they don't know their arses from their elbows. I've been here in the keep for years, now, I don't know. Maybe ten? I remember when the land was at war, vaguely, usually when I'm waking up. I remember the village as a dim haze through smoke, and then nothing. I only saw it for the first time last year, other than that. The keep is my home.

I know more than they think, though. I know the keep wasn't always my home, I know I used to be in the village. I never knew my parents, but I think they must have been villagers. But when I was very small, too small to remember really, Hanna took me in, and I've lived here ever since. The village kids have said enough just out of earshot for me to know that this - well, that, and the generals. This village used to be under someone else, and the keep, too. There was a seige, some time, a long time ago I think, and now Lord Darvhill rules it. I don't know if he is a better ruler or not, but I think he must be, because the guards are always patrolling, and there isn't fighting anymore, not like there was so many years ago.

Hanna works for Lord Darvhill, she makes things run smooth and keeps the mold out of the castle and when the weather is bad, she keeps things from going worse. Last year, there was a lot of rain and it flooded and the villagers had to come into the keep. The guards weren't happy about it, but they couldn't do anything. They kept saying things went missing afterwards, that's when I got to see the village, we all went in to see about the headman and people getting settled in. The kids from the village said that Lord Darvhill was a vile hillman and his guards were petty mercenaries, and I got in a fight with some of them. Hanna was upset.

But things are mostly good. I tend the spiders, and collect the silk they spin, and Hanna uses it in her potions when she makes them. Someday I'll know how to do everything she does, she said. Lord Darvhill says he doesn't know what he would do if anything happened to her, but she said someday I have to take on her work so everything keeps going and the village stays okay. I don't know why the village wouldn't be okay.

Jared told me that Hanna kept the village from burning down when Lord Darvhill put the keep to seige, and that's why the villagers don't like her or me, because she was in his camp. I don't know why keeping the village from burning was a bad thing. If the villagers had burned down rather than let Lord Darvhill take the town and the keep, they wouldn't be around now to trade their wool and crops. Jared is the captain of the guard, and sometimes Hanna makes me go into the forest to get berries while she makes something for his neck that he hurt in the seige. I saw the scar once, it's down between his shoulders.

Once I walked into Hanna's room while she was helping his neck, and she was rubbing it between his shoulders, but I left before I saw anything else. She doesn't want me to see her with Jared, I think she thinks I will tell people. I don't know who I would tell, besides the guards, and they already know, I heard Korren telling him that he should have found a prettier witch in the village, and then Korren was cleaning the latrines for a week.

I know I'm supposed to take over for Hanna someday. But I think that when I am old enough, I'm going to go out the wall with Korren's son and we're going to the city to join the Emperor's couriers. They always need more people. It's dangerous, but it's better than staying here forever. We're going to see the rest of Fiel and then the whole world.

-Fin-

I shall note here that this piece, born merely of the first sentence, which just sort of popped into my head, ties both into the story I've been working on for the past few months, and the novel I plan to do starting at midnight tonight. During NaNo, to avoid trying to post anything coherent of the story here, I'll be breaking the short story into pieces and posting those in something resembling chronological order. Perhaps one a week, perhaps more. Iunno. Anyway, good day and good luck to you all.

Caddy of the PPC gave me the prompt, Penguin, Pumice, Shatter, and I... somehow... did this thing with them. I don't know where it came from - I started writing about a raft on the Pacific, the scenes of Kon-Tiki in my head, and then this just... happened. It might be the most bleak thing I've ever written.

Aiden leaned back against the tall mast and grinned into the open sky. The sun had stopped bothering him so much weeks ago; now he just lay and baked, some days.

"See? Aren't you glad I brought you out here?"

He opened his eyes a slit, and looked across the narrow deck, where Mira was standing, watching the horizon. She glanced back at him, and he laughed.

"I remember having to drag you off that dock, though," he said, opening an argument old and familiar as the logs beneath their feet. She shrugged, declining to dance the path with him. "How far south are we, anyway?"

She took a deep breath, thought a moment. "I took the bearings this morning, we'll have gone a bit farther by now. I couldn't tell you offhand."

He frowned in mock horror, his eyes still closed against the sun. "What kind of navigational officer are you, anyway?"

Mira rolled her eyes at him and sat down on the deck, letting one hand trail briefly in the surf beneath them. The current dragged, helped by the sails, and they slid along imperceptibly, between the two horizons. There were worse ways to spend the time.

"I figured we could maybe see penguins, if we managed to get far enough down."

She blinked at him. "...Penguins."

"Penguins! You know, flightless birds that swim really well, black and white, inherently silly, favorite snack of seals, more favorite target of photographers?"

"Penguins. Aiden, do you know how far south we'd have to go to see penguins? We'll never... ah, it's just too much time."

Shrugging, he settled against the mast again. "I suppose so. It'd be nice, though. There's supposed to be some farther north than Antarctica, I wish I remembered where."

Mira laughed, and stretched out on the deck. "Well, yes. But I think we're better off just heading aimlessly. I don't... want anything to happen. There was that guy who warned us, way back, about the volcanoes."

"Volcanoes?" Aiden blinked, held a hand to shadow his eyes. "I don't remember that, for some reason. Undersea?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "I still don't know if he was serious or not - volcanoes on the floor of the ocean, they'd spout lava, and it would float up to the top of the water as just massive stretches of pumice or something. Really weird."

He shrugged again. "Sounds like a tall tale. But then, a lot of the past few weeks have seemed like a tall tale, really."

"Hah." She snorted. "Weirdly enough, especially after we took to the ocean. I wouldn't have thought it. The other night, when that glow started up - I thought we were both losing it."

He laughed, nodding. "Like the sky was about to swallow us up - that was stronger the first few nights, though. It's... the sky is so much deeper, now, since..."

Mira forbore to finish the thought, and the raft drifted on into silence. Their memories carried them back, perhaps simultaneously, to the nightmare they'd tried to forget: skies red and angry with foreign, searing smells, the explosions, the shattering sounds all around in the city streets, the screaming... the screaming was the worst. The smell of blood, so thick in the air you could almost taste it. And the air had filled with clouds, something worse than any of them had imagined. She and Aiden had been on the very edge of it, and they'd fled quickly, to higher ground; the worst of it had escaped them. But the survivors they found had all breathed, as well; there were varying theories that circulated about what, and who, and why, but the fact of it was, symptoms began to appear, and then there was a countdown, inexorably, unchangeably. It was exactly the same for every one of them. Six months in, they'd both woken up with the same fever, and they'd decided not to spend the rest of their fleeting lives shivering on the shore as they wondered what had happened to their world, and who mwas coming after them.

The raft was waiting on the beach, as if made specifically for them. A few days preparing, and they were off - south, out of what had been the famed Californian west coast. The trip was worth it; beautiful, soothing, like balm to their eyes, lungs, souls. They had about three weeks left, she estimated. They were both trying not to count, but it was almost impossible to avoid.

"Was that a tortoise?"

She started, at Aiden's voice, and followed his gaze out to the water, where a greenish shape about the size of their raft kept pace.

"Hah! It is! That's incredible!"

He stood up, and moved across the desk to sit down next to her, and they watched the beautiful beast swim in companionable silence as the sun set on the Pacific once again.

...for a tale of two travelers, thrown together-- er, well, more chosen for the sake of price and convenience than 'thrown,' per se-- on a fateful pass over a maybe-kinda-sorta-deadly mountain!

This is part one - part two is about halfway finished, and shall be posted tomorrow morningish.

"You don't understand," Virgil said. "He really, really, really doesn't like me."

Tessa surveyed him over the table critically. He was tallish, lean - some wiry muscle, nothing claymore-flavored - sharp-angled all around, close-cropped red hair over grey-blue eyes; a crooked nose, travel-worn clothes, and laugh lines equally spaced with scars across his face. In short, exactly the kind of person you'd picture to match with the sentence, "The guardian of the pass really doesn't like me." She shook her head.

"Look," she told him, pointing to the chart spread out between them. "The Darsun Pass is in deep freeze this time of year, and I'm not risking my neck over shifting glaciers, avalanches, the god of Blizzard Peak, and snow bears - I don't care what the price is. I'm not sticking around until the season ends, and I doubt you are, either. Nobody in their right minds is going to go three months out of their way to the South - in both directions! - so you can forget about that option. It's the Leore Pass or nothing." She downed her drink and glanced back over at him. The guy looked positively morose. "Look, Virgil, I'm not being picky, here. Unless you can ship out in a caravan headed for Kharz - and they're not cheap - you're either stuck here, or stuck without a guard. That's just the truth of it. We'll find a way to slip you through the pass - I'd bet it wouldn't be the first time."

The traveler sighed deeply, finished his own drink, and reached across the table; she grasped his hand, shook, and nodded decisively. "We'll leave in three days, then. I'll need some time to pull together the supplies."

"Alright." He stood, rolling the charts all together, and tying them off with a bit of leather. She watched him leave the inn, his head down, deep in thought. This looked... interesting.

She'd never taken the Leore Pass before - something he hadn't asked. She'd never heard of a vengeful guardian there, which said... something, anyway. Another thing he hadn't asked was how long she'd been in the business (three seasons alone, two years apprentice). He was either heart-stoppingly desperate, or mind-bendingly stupid. Or possibly both, she thought, wandering over to the hearth.

"Heya, Tess." Ali nodded from her seat near the flames, and Tessa sat down across, wondering how much she should say. Ali had been in the business a long time, it was quite possible she knew what her new client had been on about. "What's up?"

She kicked absently at the fire. "How much do you know about the Haori Peaks?"

Frowning, Ali looked over her shoulder before answering. "A fair bit. I've been up that way a couple times; twice over the Leore in both directions, and up to the summit of Darsun more times than I care to count. Why?"

"Well... you ever heard of - hell, or seen - a guardian, watching over Leore?" She grimaced; it sounded so stupid, out loud. "Because I'm starting to wonder if I've just taken a contract with a lunatic."

Ali made a deep 'hm' noise, and sipped her wine. "I've never seen anything up there, no. Never stuck around too long either, though - it's not exactly a hospitable place to spend the night. But... don't discount his tale right off. There's some odd stories about that place. All the peaks have their quirks - you know, Haori is practically honeycombed with those crystals, Rikha has that tribe of icicle-worshipping warriors, and most of the lower range is overrun with ogres as soon as the first snow hits. If I hadn't been damn-near impaled by that scout, two years back, I'd never have believed the stories. But now... well, just don't automatically disbelieve it."

Tessa sighed. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid of. He says he ran into trouble with some kind of a guardian last time he took the pass. Seemed like mortal terror, but whatever's chasing him's got to be worse, since he agreed to take it, in the end."

"Damn, Tessa. Don't get yourself killed out there, hey?" She thought a moment, then added, "And talk to Boris. He's been over Leore more times than I've been down to Kharz. If anybody can tell you if there's any weird shit about that pass, it'd be him."

Nodding, she stood, and grabbed Ali's hand for a moment. "Thanks, mate. I'll see you in the Spring, yeah?"

"Yeah."

She found Boris at Jarkhal's the next day, swapping tales while the apprentice shoed his little hill pony. There were other smiths in the small city, but Jarkhal had been a mountaineer once, and anyone who made their living guarding travelers across the harsh surrounding lands made it a point to take their work to his forge. The gnarled old smith grinned at her as she ducked in the door, closing it heavily against the stiff breeze.

"Heard you got yourself a contract, Tess," he called, across the room. Boris turned, raising an eyebrow.

She laughed and nodded at the two of them, crossing the room to the long, low counter. "Yeah, picked up somebody wants to head over Leore before the snows bury us in, here."

Boris whistled, low, and shook his head. "Bad move him, waiting so late," he said, leaning against the counter. "Leore can be tricky if you have to make it down late." He tilted his head at her, his blue eyes twinkling in the firelight. "That why you're here? Ducking the fool's trail?"

"Not... quite." She hesitated for a moment. "You know Leore better than anybody - you ever hear of a guardian, up there somewheres?"

He was silent for a long moment. "What did he tell you?"

Jarkhal watched, his eyes dark. Tessa took a deep breath. "Just - he wasn't welcome, up there. He wanted to take Darsun, but my second run was coming back here that way, just spring, and even on the tail end of a pretty mild winter, we barely made it. I won't touch it, this late into the fall. But he sounded like he'd prefer snow bears and glaciers to Leore."

Boris sighed, and rubbed his eyes a moment. "Yeah," he said, sighing. "I heard tales like that, different places. Used to be a hunter around, maybe ten years back, Tobin; he told me same thing, he wasn't welcome up there. I asked him, he wouldn't say more. Said there were things no man could face twice. No more. So I asked around - there's a village up a ways, Varhil; little place, live off the pastures up past the trees ending. There, they have stories - they live in shadow of Leore, they would know. Old men tell tall tales all over the world, though," and the ghost of a grin passed his face, "So I didn't listen too close. They said same thing - a guardian, watches the pass, never seen until it's too late. Shadows to scare the little ones straight.

"But there was a lady there, made soups from these roots far up the mountain - her sons gathered them when I met her, journey maybe two days up and down both." He paused for a moment, smiling. "Damn good soup, too. We traded, a bowl for some of the incense I had carried over from the far side of the pass. She told me when she was younger, stronger, straighter back, she walked up the mountain herself, gathered the roots to harvest - her sons did okay, they were good boys, but they didn't have the eye of it. She said once, she went farther - up through the boulders, found a path, worn smooth and ancient. Walked it, climbed some, all up, where things stop growing, only rocks and the colors of the sky. She said up there, in the rocks, there was something she heard, singing - speaking, maybe, like the voice of the mountain. Too big to be man, or men, or bear - even too big to be ogre. Too... too sharp, maybe, to be avalanche, or rocks. She was waiting, it was too dark to go down, and she was there for the night, listening to the spirit of the mountain. In the morning it was silent.

"From what she told me, she was looking down on the pass; it's high up there. I looked for the path after that, always, but I never saw it. That was... eight years, maybe. I was up Leore last summer, taking three miners back to Kahi Plains, and I thought I saw something - but it was dusk, and my eyes aren't as strong as they were." He shrugged. "I went to look, but nothing was there."

Tessa shook her head. "That's quite a tale, Boris," she told him. "I can't back out now. But I thank you for the warning; it'll take some thought."

Jarkhal h'med, under his breath. "You ever smuggled a customer across a border, Tess?"

"Nah," she answered. "Snuck past bandits last fall, but everybody's done that."

He shrugged. "That's something. I don't know what this legendary... thing Boris has is capable of, but I've done some underhanded borders in my day. Stay low, travel dark whenever you can, and keep off the roads where there's space for it. The high parts of Leore won't be easy, but I don't doubt there's a way through, somewhere. The old woman's path, maybe. Just keep your eyes out for it."

She nodded to both of them. "Thanks, Jarkhal. Boris. I'll see you on the other side." The wind had picked up, she noticed, stepping back outside. It wouldn't be an easy crossing, this late. Virgil was lucky to have found a guide at all - maybe that was why he'd come to her, she realized. Green on the mountains, she didn't have as much margin to be choosy about her fares; most of the older guards and guides wouldn't have taken the pass at all, this late. Well, it wasn't the end of the world, probably; she'd just have to trust to the luck of the young and the foolish - between the two of them, they had both ends pretty well covered.

The day dawned brisk and sunny - good weather to start, and a waxing quarter moon that night, a good sign. She met Virgil on the outskirts of town, and nodded approval at his gear; he'd taken her suggestions. The journey was a good three weeks of travel, two if they pushed it; he was well outfitted to be coming down the end of the pass as it closed. It'd do them no good to brave Leore if they got caught unprepared in an early blizzard coming down.

Tessa was fitted out - a light mail tunic, tucked out of sight, and a sturdy cloak over her travel shirt and breeches. Heavy boots - they'd be a bit uncomfortable for the ends of the foothills, but there was nothing like them for the steep, winding trails up Leore and the roots of Rikha. For now, she kept the cloak swept back, leaving her short, dark hair open to the morning breeze, and the mace exposed at her hip. She hoped to avoid trouble on the road, but this wouldn't be the first time, nor the last, that a handful of ne'er-do-wells watched a single guard escort someone out of the city, and slipped out in the following hours with a good hunting bow and an alibi. Better to keep them from getting the idea in the first place.

She nodded to him. "You ready?"

He took a deep breath, as if he wasn't quite sure of the answer. "Yeah. Let's get moving."

And they hit the road.

I might have to do more with this 'verse. I'm somewhat intrigued by the idea. Thanks to Artell of the PPC for the prompt: "Odious, Microphone, Mongoose."

Charlie threw the T-shirt over his head and sat down, grabbing a comb off the dresser. She flipped the top off the gel, and finished the half-mohawk. A loud thump came from the other side of the room, and she grinned over her shoulder. "You know the rules, buddy. Gimme three hours; after the show, we can hang out."

"Hey! You 'bout ready?" She glanced up. Dover's head was poking through the gap in the door. "The Flaming Troubles of Paradise are almost through their set."

"Yeah, let's go." He nodded and headed out, and Charlie followed him, shutting the door carefully behind her. The dressing room was safe if undisturbed, but generally she did have to make sure it remained undisturbed.

The gig wasn't too bad - a little smaller than their usual, but the crowd was enthusiastic, and that made up for a lot. None of their microphones exploded (this time), and no idiots tried to rip her hair off. Dover and Tara were excellent, as ever, and the new song went over well; all in all, an excellent night. They left the circle to cheers, and after packing up, Dover threw an arm over both of them as they headed back down the hall.

"So," he said, his voice a little louder than usual (just as well - they probably wouldn't be able to hear him otherwise for another hour or so), "When're we gonna get that team of barely-dressed backup dancers we been talkin' about?"

Tara hit him on the shoulder, and he laughed. "Still a no? You're killin' me here!"

"C'mon, Dover. You'd just make Dina jealous, and we can't have that," Charlie told him, holding the dressing room door open. They headed through, and Dina chittered and scolded at all three of them from the top of the dresser.

Dover picked the little mongoose up and swung her around, crooning. She yapped back at him, and after a moment, he handed her off to Charlie. As usual, she scooted up onto the singer's head, snuggling into what she clearly considered a makeshift nest. Tara snerked and threw herself down onto the couch.

After a few minutes, Dover yawned. "So wha'd we make?"

"H'm?" Dina picked her head up and glanced at him, and after a moment, Charlie followed suit.

"We make anything? C'mon, we ain't doin' charity gigs, last I checked."

"We're s'posed to pick it up on our way out. And speakin' of, we'd better head out. I don't want to be in this town tomorrow morning."

Tara stood, and grabbed the pack of gear. "Let's make dust, then."

The office had a weird sort of vibe; uncomfortable, she thought. Odious. The whole place smelled a bit like some kind of fruit, too sweet, and a bit like sulfur and ozone. The man behind the desk was asleep, or - possibly and - stoned out of his mind. Tallish, wiry, soft features, with a gnarled mat of dark hair tied out of his face. Charlie rapped lightly on the oorframe.

The man stirred, groaned, and sat up. "You," he said wearily, unslurred. "What do you want?"

Dover, behind her, raised an eyebrow. "Payment," she told the man. "This is the main office, yeah? You're in charge?"

He stood up, stretching. "It is, I am. What do you want?"

There was a bit of movement behind her. Charlie took a deep breath. "I told you. Payment. What d'you have?"

The man narrowed his eyes at her and shook his head. "Not much. Do you take solar?"

She shrugged. "Solar's fine, if it's what you got."

"It's what we got." He turned to the cabinet behind her. "Here. Some Solar, and there's a little Antaran - should make up the change." He handed her the fare: two octogonal tubes of black glass about two feet long, just about four inches across, rounded at the end, capped with bronze, and a smaller one, about the size of her wrist.

Charlie nodded, handed them off to Dover, who easily tucked all three under his arm. "Thanks," she told the man. He nodded half-heartedly back, shut the cabinet, and slumped back down in his chair, behind the desk. They trooped out of his office, Dina nibbling gently on her scalp as they left the building.

Back in the van, Tara stowed the capsules away. "We got enough Rigelian to get us down to Sartorville," she called. "But the Antaran's no good with the hydro or moto."

Dover plugged into the console and shrugged. "We got Solar, I don't care 'bout Antaran. Loose it, give Dina some fun."

"Sick," Charlie replied, pulling out the capsule. A half-twist from the overhead sealed it, and the sweet, reddish light spilled out, into the space of the rover. Dina let out a squeak of delight, and all three bandmates let out an almost involuntary sigh. There was nothing like fresh light to end the day on.

There is a queen - let us call her Eowyn. Eowyn rules her land well, with wisdom and justice, and all the lands under her prosper. Her people are happy, her castle and grounds are well-kept, and she has ruled in peace for thirty years.

But Eowyn is about to run into a very serious problem. You see, Eowyn knows nothing at all about magic. This has never been a problem for her, or anyone else, before! It is a novel situation for all concerned. For three hundred years, there has been no magic in the world, and so no one understood it; there was nothing to learn or understand. But two years ago, on a brisk autumn evening, a brave, clever, and honorable young page stumbled across a secret cabal who were involved in a dark conspiracy.

He was drawn, not entirely by choice, into an epic and noble quest to stop the evil conspirators from conquering the world with their secret powers. After several seasons of earth-shaking battles, mysterious shadows, break-neck races across steep and terrible cliffs by a sliver of moonlight, and general acts of heroism, the young protagonist and his companions managed to save the kingdom, and the world - and, in the process of doing so, overturned an age-old curse that had befallen the land three hundred years prior.

The young hero and his friends were, of course, rewarded handsomely for their troubles and their triumphs, and ballads regaling their adventures were sung across the lands. The kingdom returned to its normal peaceful state. But in private, Eowyn gathered her advisors in closed chambers. In the lull, things were quite smooth, and people were happy - the advent had changed very little, it seemed. But Eowyn knew this would not last. The laws governing magic had long been forgotten, or very nearly so. In ages past, the ruler of any land would have sorcerors about them, as many and as highly regarded as the other counsellors. But as magic disappeared from the world, those traditions had fallen into disuse, and the tomes and proclamations that reasoned out the relationship of magic with the law and court and people were deeply buried in forgotten shelves of ancient libraries, and their dialects archaic and arcane, difficult for any but the most learned scholars to decipher.

This was clearly an urgent problem, and none had a clear solution. It was decided, at the least, that those scholars who claimed to understand the ancient tomes should be brought to the palace, and that they should be paid by the crown to devise new books, in the modern dialect, to instruct the public and their monarch. The state of affairs could not continue - a queen who ruled a land of magic should not be ignorant in the matter herself.

And so it was that in the late summer of that year, as the harvest began to be taken, the travelers came from all across the land, converging on the palace as one. They came in dusty, road-worn clothes, and in horse-drawn finery; as lone riders, taking dangerous roads in search of speed; in caravans of convenience, working or paying their way along with the merchants; with bags filled to bursting with notes and books, and with ink spattering their skin from head to toe. By the time the first frost had begun to crackle on the towers of Eowyn's gardens, the libraries were bustling.

We shall join her there, on the eve of the first frost, as she confides in her vizier, whose wisdom in her reign thus far has been invaluable.

***

"At least half of them are imbeciles."

Darius smiled and tapped his pipe. "I'm not denying that, Eowyn. We shall have to put some sort of test; those who pass will be

It's a minor ramble from the original sole inhabitant of a sketched world. Since his formation, he's been joined by two others, and may be joined by more as things continue to spread out in my head. In the meantime, here's a thing - the first time he sits down to write, on the narrator's advice, about nothing.

About nothing - this is hard to do. I don't even have a name, but I know there is something, and that voids - unvoids. There's a mountain, here, it's an anomaly, it sticks straight up out of the ground, and leads to rolling hills behind it. The overhang from the cliff makes for shelter, when it rains, and I've climbed up it some ways - not all the way.

The world is big, I imagine; I haven't seen much of it. Just the mountain, the hills, the plains on the other side of the mountain, where my pond is. (It's very clean, there's a tree at one end, and some very comfortable rocks about.) Jenna wanted to know if it's ever frozen over, but winter hasn't come yet, so I don't know if it will. Right now it's just a pond, a place to sit and think and swim and let your feet dangle, and Zeke is odd flying over it. I figure the rain is what replenishes it, since it does rain so often.

Zeke hasn't told me what makes the rain, though I've asked him; maybe he can't fly that far. (I bet he can't fly that far.) To his credit, he hasn't made anything up about it, either, which would be very easy to do. Jenna says she's going to make a way to fly without wings, at least without his wings, but she hasn't said this to him. He'd probably call it heresy. (Which is funny, because you'd probably call it smart.)

He hasn't even been to the top of the mountain, I think. He said it gets colder and rockier and fewer plants grow, the higher you get, but he hasn't gone to the top. Someday, I'd like to climb it and beat him there; that'd show him. Something. He's just so smug, you know? Like he somehow has one over on us, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't. For all he can fly, he still seems to be figuring out this world as he goes, same as Jenna and me. I haven't found a magic solution. I don't know where the hills go, or why, and it stands to reason he doesn't either - it seems like someone who knew what they were doing would be less smug about it. They'd just do, not spend all their time talking about what they can do.

But that's just me.

I'm glad for this spot, it's one of my favorites so far. So quiet, and sheltered, and with the bark and the charcoal, it's nice to have a way to write things down. It's so... odd. Knowing words, knowing speech, knowing writing, but having no memory of learning. I wonder if everyone is like this? I wonder if there is an everyone, if it's just Jenna and Zeke and me. I hope not. It would be nice to have more people around, another voice, another face. Not that there's anything wrong with the company now, but... more people, I guess.

I wonder if we could make a road. I think - the hard part would be finding our way back, if we went too far, and somehow I have a feeling that wouldn't be so much of a problem with Zeke around. Who knows? We could build a road, through the hills. A cairn on every hilltop, to show the way, and we'd see if there's an end to them. Maybe we wouldn't need Zeke for that.

In the meantime, it's getting dark, and I think it's a good night for no fire - the stars are out, they're harder to see when there's a fire. Zeke says the dark makes him nervous, it's why he doesn't come down at night, but it doesn't bother me so much. I can mostly see my way around, by the stars and the moon. It's true; walking does have its advantages over flight.