Another update.

[ailsa_chan]

Must do some cosplay the week. August is getting scarily close. (Though Josh scared me yesterday when he was convinced it was July!) I think I should be able to do it all in a month, as all costumes are lagely done, they jsut need finishing off.

Think most people have seen it, but our car was assulted by an SUV recently and has a big dent in the rear passenger side door. Insurance calim is being dealt with, car still drivable, but we haven't dared open the door!

More story below, please comment, I am open to requests for cookie-bribes etc. Some has been posted before, but newer stuff further down.


The fit of coughing woke him as it racked his body. Gasping, he turned his head and spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm into the straw. It hurt to breathe, every inhalation causing stabbing pains in his chest. He felt as if he were suffocating, as if he could not get quite enough air to fill his lungs with each laboured breath. He recognised the symptoms; he had suffered like this once before. But he had not been alone then. Last time Jack had been there to save his life, with the steady drum beat and the strange incense that smelt like honey and burning flowers.

He wondered where Jack and the others were. Had they been separated, or were they at least allowed each others company? How were they coping? Had they been tortured too? How would Amari deal with being shut in, caged like an animal? He could picture her, sat in the middle of a cell, back straight, refusing to pace or shout. He could picture her face, a mask of cold but regal dignity.

“Songbird,” he murmured, his voice dry and rasping, barely audible. “My heathen princess.”

His skin was burning hot, but his body shook uncontrollably, bashing his broken fingers painfully against the floor of the cell. He was thirsty, but no one had refilled the metal water cup since he had drained it last. Sometimes the coughing was so hard it made him retch, doubling him up with agonising dry heaves because he had nothing to bring up.

He had no idea how long he had been in that cell. He could not hear any bells, could hear no sign at all of life outside the dungeon. He was too sick to use his sleep patterns to mark the passage of time. He was surprised at how disturbing he found the timelessness. He was used to living to the cycle of internal rhythm, but somehow not knowing how long he had spent locked up panicked him.

The sound of footsteps approaching did not rouse him. He had been hearing things that he was sure were not there for while now. He had had a long discussion with Miranda earlier, before realising that she was many miles away in a different kingdom. So he was not about to waste his meagre strength on what was probably an illusion.

The door to the cell opened and he knew he was hallucinating again. Standing with two paladins was the Red Prince, a look of barely concealed rage on his face. He was not dressed in his armour now, but in close-fitting and well made clothes, all shades of scarlet. He knelt at Zephyr’s side and put a hand on his forehead.

“I gave you explicit orders!” he snapped at the paladins, who were hanging back at the entrance to the cell. Zephyr was unsure if they were afraid of the prince or of the sickness in the room. “Torture him, I said, break him down. But he must not die!”

“He’s not dead yet,” one of the paladins pointed out.

“True, but if I had come down here even an hour later thing might be very different.” He stood. “Take him upstairs. There is a bed made up in my chambers, put him there.”

“But,” the paladin started.

“Are you questioning me?” the Red Prince demanded, striding towards the man. Zephyr thought he saw the prince’s hands begin to glow. The paladin winced and took a step back

“No my Lord,” he mumbled.

The Red Prince lowered his hands slowly. “Good. Then do as I say. I will be waiting for you.”

Zephyr heard him walk away and the paladins approach. They picked him up roughly and carried him from the cell. Knowing they were going to hurt him more, and knowing he could do nothing to stop it, he allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, trying to hold off the pain for as long as possible. He was surprised, then, to wake in a warm room, a roaring fire near by. As he became more awake, he was aware he was lying on a bed, a real bed with feather pillows. Turning his head he could see a table covered with bottles of liquid.

“So, you are awake?”

He turned at the sound of the voice, the sudden movement triggering a fit of coughing. The Red Prince walked over to the bed, a look of kindly concern on his face. Zephyr tried to push himself down further into the pillows.

“What do you want with me?” he asked, once the coughing subsided.

“Want?” the man repeated, amused. “I want to make sure you don't die on me, my dear boy. The paladins are useful idiots to my cause, but give them complicated instructions and they go to pieces. If you want a job doing, you always have to do it yourself.”

“But why? I've told you everything. I don't understand why you keep tormenting me; why you don't just kill me.”

“I can't do that. Your mother has seen to that.”

“You knew my mother?” he asked in surprise.

The older man laughed. “Knew? My dear boy I didn't just know her, I fucked her. We wouldn't be having this conversation otherwise.” He undid the buttons on his shirt and opened it out. Though his white hair and the lines on his face showed him to be an old man, the muscles of his chest still looked firm and strong. “You have seen this before.” He pointed to the small circular tattoo over his heart. Zephyr nodded silently. He had an identical mark on his own body.

“Your mother did both of these, when you were a tiny baby. It’s a lovers’ bond. Two people tie their lives together through these symbols, which are tattooed onto their bodies with their own blood, so they never have to live apart. Syrieth used it on her husband and child. I assume she could not bear the thought of the two people she loved most killing each other. I could undo it if she had used my blood or yours, but she used her own, so I’m afraid we’re stuck like this. She was a brilliant woman,” he added wistfully, his voice full of pride.

“Stuck like this?” Zephyr asked. His head was hurting badly. He did not understand what this man was saying; did not want to understand. The implication, that this was man was what his mother had been running from; that this was his father… He did not want to think about it. He closed his eyes as the room swam.

“Stuck together though a life-bond. Meaning that if you die I die as well. And vice versa. How much did she tell you?”

“Nothing. We were separated when I was still very young.”

The prince sighed. “Poor Syrieth. She should never have run from me. I would have given her the world; clothed her in night and crowned her in stars. Instead she was beaten to death in a slaver’s pen, far from her family and home.” He seemed genuinely moved, thinking about his dead wife. “But she never understood. My people, our people in fact, have always been persecuted. People feared us, judged us, because we knew secrets they did not. The blood magic was something we refused to teach to outsiders and so they hated it because they did not understand it. If they had only thought, they would realise that a technique that requires you to have an enemy prone and unmoving for several hours while you tattoo him is not so offensive.

“I did not want to die, killed for my heritage as much as any ability I had. I set off to find a way to make myself stronger, to protect myself from harm. The Sun worshippers, they tell you death is not to be feared, that there is an afterlife of glory and light. But they lie. That’s just a happy story to keep people supplicant. No, what I needed was immortality. And eventually I found it. Do you know of the Sithi?”

“They’re just a myth,” he replied quietly. The Red Prince was amicable, chatty even. He was
very different from the person who had watched as Zephyr was tortured a few days ago. Was it because Zephyr was his son, or merely because he was utterly powerless against him now?

“No, they are real. They should have died millennia ago, but they live on, fuelled by hate and a thirst for revenge. Can you picture it? An entire race hanging on a single chance. And I can give it to them. In return for this they will give me eternal life.”

“You want to fulfil the prophesy,” Zephyr realised. “That’s why you want Summer.”

“Indeed and I’d be able to carry out my plans much sooner if you hadn’t managed to damage the child. It could be a month or more before he is strong enough to travel again. I hope you are aware of how much trouble your selfishness has caused. You can’t put the power of a god in a human body and expect there to be no side effects when that power is discharged.

“Now, where was I? The Sithi taught me many things; they were a race far more advanced and intelligent than our own. And they I returned to my wife and told her my plans. Maybe it was a mistake to suggest using our baby as the sacrifice. But you can always have more children, I told her. Anyway, she tried to talk me out, and when she could not she drugged me, tattooed me and ran away with you. I though of looking for her, of bringing her back to my side, but I had more important things to do. I have spent the last twenty years building my power and influence until I was ready to move. I will not die; I cannot die!” There was a notable tremor in voice.

“How did you convince the paladins? You are planning to sacrifice their god. How did you convince them to go along with that plan?”

“I have them convinced I am an agent of God and the boy is a demon child. One of the things the Sithi taught me was how to create the effects of music without a single note. I have them beguiled by my voice, believing illusions that are all in their heads. I am using the thing they hate most against them and they have no idea!”

“And you would sacrifice everyone alive so you can live forever?”

“If you are tying to appeal to my sense of humanity dear boy then I will point out that if my own wife could not do it then you have no chance. The people of this world mean nothing to me. I am happy to destroy them all if it means keeping Death’s cold hands from my body.”

“My mother should have killed you. I’ll have to do it myself,” he gasped.

“At the expense of your own life? I don’t think so. I think you are too much like Syrieth. Now, you’ve got yourself all worked up,” he said reproachfully as Zephyr coughed and choked, struggling to breathe. “You are still unwell, you should be more careful.”

“Water,” Zephyr begged, as the coughing finally subsided. The prince pressed a glass against his lips and he swallowed a mouthful of something cold and sweet.

“Now sleep,” the prince commanded, and Zephyr could do nothing to disobey.

He woke later, feeling a stabbing in his palm. He looked over to the Red Prince hunched over, a look of concentration on his face. He looked up as Zephyr stirred.

“That’s a shame. I had hoped you would sleep though this.”

“What are you doing to me?”

“I hope you aren’t stupid enough to think that I would just allow you to recover without taking any efforts to protect myself? Just because I cannot kill you it does not mean there are not other things I can do to make sure you do not trouble me further.”

There was another prick in his palm and Zephyr realised the prince was tattooing something there. He tried to draw back his hand, but found his arm was strapped down.

“Nearly finished. Hold still for a little longer. There,” he smiled. “Goodbye, dear boy, I’m done with you now.”

There was another prick and the light faded from Zephyr’s eyes. The Red Price looked down at the body on the bed, breathing still but the features now slack, the eyes unseeing. His son’s hair was the same colour his own had been at that age, but the boy’s eyes had clearly come from his mother.

“It was a good effort, Syrieth,” he murmured, “but you could never outwit me. I’m far nastier than you ever imagined.”

Jack heard the door opening, but almost did not believe it. He had been certain they had been all but forgotten down in the dungeon. So he was somewhat taken by surprise when the paladin entered.

“Wake her,” the man ordered, pointing to Amari, who had been kept unconscious since the torch burned out. Jack shook Amari gently, ready to grab her if she reacted violently.

“It’s over lass;” he told her quietly. “Time to go.”

She nodded slowly. Jack helped Saffron to her feet.

“Thankyou Jack, for everything. You’re a good man. I hope you can see your wife and little girl again.”

He said nothing; no words seemed to come out. The paladins roughly urged them out of the cell and up the passage. They came out of the fort, the sunlight almost blinding them after hours of being in the dark. Out in the snowy courtyard stood their horses and Allegro, tacked up and waiting. One of the paladins prodded Jack roughly.

“Go on, then.”

“Where are we going now?” he enquired. “And where’s the man we came with?”
The paladin shrugged. “Do as you please. You’ve been released,” from his tone of voice, Jack guessed he wasn’t pleased about the decision. He resolved not to question it too much, in case someone changed their mind. He made his way towards his horse, flanked by Amari and Saffron, who seemed equally bewildered.

“As for your friend,” the paladin called out behind them. There was a dull thud, like meat hitting the floor. Jack turned to see one of the paladins had come out and dumped a ragged bundle on the floor. It took a moment for his mind to resolve the bundle into the figure of a man wrapped in a blanket. A man with deep red hair.

Amari caught sight of Zephyr’s body about the same time Jack did. She threw back her head and screamed: a cry of pure, unadulterated feminine rage. She rushed at the nearest paladin, arms outstretched to choke the life from him. Jack saw what she was about to do and tackled her bodily. She howled with dismay.

“Let me go, Jack! Let me kill them! I’ll kill them for what they’ve done!”

“Not if I have anything to do with it. He’s alive, Amari. Look, you can see he’s still breathing. I don’t know why they’ve decided to let us go like this, but if we stay around too long they’re likely to change their minds. Come on, lass. Let’s get out of this place. You’ll be no help to him if you get yourself killed here.”

She went still and stopped struggling. Jack let her get up. She walked over to Zephyr, ignoring the paladins, and knelt by his side. His face was a mass of bruises and lacerations, some of which were still oozing. She kissed his forehead and his skin felt hot to her touch.

“There’s always hope while we’re still alive, right?” she murmured, echoing the words he had said to her in the house in Serpent’s Gate. She picked up his body and walked over to Jack, who had already mounted his horse. “Let’s get out of here,” she said quietly.

They travelled as quickly as they could, Amari leading Allegro and Jack carrying Zephyr, until they came across the first village they found on the Marin side of the border. They stopped at the only inn, where Jack summoned the local healer. Amari and Saffron found themselves alone together in the common room, waiting.

“Part of me can’t stop thinking that I’m asleep and this is some kind of surreal dream,” Saffron admitted as drinks were set down on the table. “Or maybe I’m already dead, and I just haven’t realised.”

Amari looked down at her fingers. The skin was torn and splintered, the nails ragged from where she had tried to claw her way through the cell door. Now she had time to sit and think, she realised they hurt immensely.

“I don’t think we’re dead or dreaming.” She took a drink and pulled a face. “I’d expect better ale in the afterlife too.”

Saffron smiled tiredly. “He’ll be okay, won’t he?”

“I don’t know. They’d hurt him pretty badly. But he’s still alive. That’s a start. It’s more than I believed possible a while ago.”

“What do you think happens next?” Saffron enquired. “Do you think we can go back to living the same way again?”

“I’m going to go after Summer,” Amari told her. “I made him a promise; I can’t just give up on that. But I need to know about Zephyr first. I realised something,” she continued. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied, but I just noticed that when Michael took my horse, he took most of my packs and left me his own. Including these.” She pulled the necklace and tiara out.

Saffron looked at them, shining in her hand. “And we went to so much trouble to get them. You’d think he’d take a bit more care of them.”

“I think he was a bit more preoccupied with the idea that I might kill him if he stayed round. Maybe that’s why he sold us to the paladins.”

“You think he deliberately set us up?”

Amari shrugged. “They were well prepared. They knew where we were, they had suitable numbers and they were prepared for music. I think we were set up and I can’t think who else would do it.”

They sat drinking in silence for a while, until Jack came downstairs.

“How is he?” Amari demanded, standing up.

“He’s alive,” Jack responded slowly. “He’s badly beaten up and feverish, but the healer says none of it should be life-threatening, and most things should heal up properly in time. Except his hands. They broke all his fingers. He’ll never be able to play again.” He sounded sick.

“You don’t sound very happy,” Saffron commented. “I mean, I know music was probably the most important part of his life, but at least he still has a life.”

Amari studied his face closely. “What are you keeping from us, Jack?” she demanded. Without
waiting for an answer, she pushed past him, heading upstairs.

“You don’t want to go up there, Amari!” he warned.

“Of course I do. You said yourself he’s going to be okay. Why would I not want to see him?”

Jack sighed. “They…they tortured him very badly. He couldn’t deal with it. They broke his mind, Amari. They broke his mind.”

She did not wait to hear any further, but ran up the stairs and pushed open the bedroom door. Zephyr was lying on his side, his back to her. She called his name, but there was no response. She walked round the bed slowly, dreading what she might find. His eyes were open as she approached, and he seemed to be staring at a patch of wall ahead of him. She called his name again, louder this time, but he did not even blink. Amari could not even weep. To have her hopes raised and crushed like this had numbed her inside. She felt Jack put a hand on her shoulder.

“I told you,” he said softly.

“Maybe...maybe, if we took him to that island, someone there would be able to help,” Saffron said slowly. “I know it's unlikely, but I just can't give up on him yet. While he's still alive, I have to hold on to the chance that there might be hope.”

There’s always hope while we’re still alive, Amari though. But she couldn't feel any hope inside her.

See people tonight for the Hobbity do.

ETA - no I have no idea why lj posted this one below the other one. Stupid thing :(