Croatoan [8]
anonymous
March 28 2009, 22:14:46 UTC
Instead he says, “What is that place?”
“‘That’ place?” Ariel echoes, frowning. “I don’t sense anything different.”
“It’s the air. And just the feel of the space.” Arthur shifts, groans a bit as he sits up. “It’s clearer. I can think here.”
The Magician nods. “You aren’t affected by Sycorax’s magic, Ariel, but Arthur is. This space has to be separate from her realm.”
Croatoan. Arthur holds back his shivers. “The name of that world is -”
“The same as the name carved on a tree trunk by the Lost Colony. Yes.” The Magician no longer smiles. “Croatoan is the name of an island. It is also the name Sycorax gave to this world when she created it.”
Ariel shivers. “I hate this place,” the fairy whispers. “I hate it! I hate being bound to a place Lord Prospero freed me from!”
The Magician nods. “I know, Ariel. I know. If only he hadn’t left his book here….”
Arthur swallows, his throat dry and clicking as he understands. “That world,” he says. “It’s magic pollution, isn’t it? Because Prospero buried his book here.”
Ariel trembles and bows its head. “The magics of Men and Fey are not meant to blend,” he says. “Prospero bound Sycorax to the world of fairies. He made a mistake in burying his book of conjuring. That magic became part of the land…and part of Sycorax’s domain.”
“She’s got Alfred,” Arthur whispers. He knows he’s right when the Magician lifts his head to meet Arthur with brown and blue eyes.
Stop panicking, you git, he tells himself as bile burns his throat. He forces the pain from his throat.
“So what do I have to do to save him? ‘Caliban,’ I mean.”
The Magician meets his gaze head-on. “There is a price,” he says. “And I will not be allowed to interfere beyond small help.”
Arthur feels something harden in his stomach. But he doesn’t look away, and after a few moments the Magician continues.
“If you are to save Jones, you will need to destroy Prospero’s book.”
The Magician pauses again. A few moments pass.
“Well? Get on with it. How do I do that?”
Ariel’s head lifts, and Arthur breaks his gaze to look down into indigo eyes. “Y-you’re seriously going to go through with this?” Ariel says.
“It will not be easy,” the Magician adds.
Arthur snorts, bracing his hands against the ground as he stands. “You think I’m that much of a simpleton? Dealing with the Fey is never easy. But I’m not doing this because it’s easy.” The Magician hasn’t yet stood, and Arthur frowns down at him. His face feels like granite, and he feels solid against the ground (though that might just be the clearer air).
The Magician stands, watches him for a moment more, and nods, the edges of his lips perking upward. Arthur feels his approval like a ray of sunlight.
“First things first,” he says. “We must take care of your friend.”
Arthur blinks, taking about three seconds to process that -
“Kiku…KIKU!”
The Magician says nothing as Arthur pushes past him and bolts across the clearing to Kiku’s side. He barely even registers the man standing beside his unconscious body, except that he has a large bow and a stern expression that reminds him of Sweden a bit.
Then all of Arthur’s attention narrows to Kiku as he kneels to the ground and takes a cold hand. Kiku is pale, much paler than he should be. His breaths are slow and shallow, and a pulse marches along in slow beats underneath Kiku’s wrist.
“He lost a lot of life when that blade ran him through,” the Magician murmurs. “He was almost beyond our help - and I don’t have the experience I needed to help him.”
Kiku’s hand feels numb, a dead weight clasped in his fingers. “Then how is he…”
The Magician smiles and bends over, lowering a hand in front of Arthur’s face. In it he clasps a small bag made of rawhide with a duck’s face painted on the front. “Do you recognize this?” he asks.
Arthur blinks, reaching up with his other hand. “That’s the bag that the kappa gave to me to….”
“Your friend Kiku is lucky,” says the Magician. “The contents of this bag are what kept him from death.”
The archer interrupts. “But it’s not enough to fully revive him right now.”
Re: Croatoan [8]
anonymous
March 28 2009, 22:41:02 UTC
F555555555555555555.
(Long rambling comment is long and rambling, so sorry in advance.) Loved the reference between the archer and Sweden, if only because the reason I eventually went and picked up The Tempest was thanks to an old Swedish animation I saw as a kid. Called "Resan till Melonia", slightly based on the play, pretty as anything and has the most perfect music ever. And wonderful to listen to while reading this. :) (You can have a short listen here.) Ahh. Yeah. Done rambling now.
I still love this fic to bits, you know. I'm so waiting for more.
“‘That’ place?” Ariel echoes, frowning. “I don’t sense anything different.”
“It’s the air. And just the feel of the space.” Arthur shifts, groans a bit as he sits up. “It’s clearer. I can think here.”
The Magician nods. “You aren’t affected by Sycorax’s magic, Ariel, but Arthur is. This space has to be separate from her realm.”
Croatoan. Arthur holds back his shivers. “The name of that world is -”
“The same as the name carved on a tree trunk by the Lost Colony. Yes.” The Magician no longer smiles. “Croatoan is the name of an island. It is also the name Sycorax gave to this world when she created it.”
Ariel shivers. “I hate this place,” the fairy whispers. “I hate it! I hate being bound to a place Lord Prospero freed me from!”
The Magician nods. “I know, Ariel. I know. If only he hadn’t left his book here….”
Arthur swallows, his throat dry and clicking as he understands. “That world,” he says. “It’s magic pollution, isn’t it? Because Prospero buried his book here.”
Ariel trembles and bows its head. “The magics of Men and Fey are not meant to blend,” he says. “Prospero bound Sycorax to the world of fairies. He made a mistake in burying his book of conjuring. That magic became part of the land…and part of Sycorax’s domain.”
“She’s got Alfred,” Arthur whispers. He knows he’s right when the Magician lifts his head to meet Arthur with brown and blue eyes.
Stop panicking, you git, he tells himself as bile burns his throat. He forces the pain from his throat.
“So what do I have to do to save him? ‘Caliban,’ I mean.”
The Magician meets his gaze head-on. “There is a price,” he says. “And I will not be allowed to interfere beyond small help.”
Arthur feels something harden in his stomach. But he doesn’t look away, and after a few moments the Magician continues.
“If you are to save Jones, you will need to destroy Prospero’s book.”
The Magician pauses again. A few moments pass.
“Well? Get on with it. How do I do that?”
Ariel’s head lifts, and Arthur breaks his gaze to look down into indigo eyes. “Y-you’re seriously going to go through with this?” Ariel says.
“It will not be easy,” the Magician adds.
Arthur snorts, bracing his hands against the ground as he stands. “You think I’m that much of a simpleton? Dealing with the Fey is never easy. But I’m not doing this because it’s easy.” The Magician hasn’t yet stood, and Arthur frowns down at him. His face feels like granite, and he feels solid against the ground (though that might just be the clearer air).
The Magician stands, watches him for a moment more, and nods, the edges of his lips perking upward. Arthur feels his approval like a ray of sunlight.
“First things first,” he says. “We must take care of your friend.”
Arthur blinks, taking about three seconds to process that -
“Kiku…KIKU!”
The Magician says nothing as Arthur pushes past him and bolts across the clearing to Kiku’s side. He barely even registers the man standing beside his unconscious body, except that he has a large bow and a stern expression that reminds him of Sweden a bit.
Then all of Arthur’s attention narrows to Kiku as he kneels to the ground and takes a cold hand. Kiku is pale, much paler than he should be. His breaths are slow and shallow, and a pulse marches along in slow beats underneath Kiku’s wrist.
“He lost a lot of life when that blade ran him through,” the Magician murmurs. “He was almost beyond our help - and I don’t have the experience I needed to help him.”
Kiku’s hand feels numb, a dead weight clasped in his fingers. “Then how is he…”
The Magician smiles and bends over, lowering a hand in front of Arthur’s face. In it he clasps a small bag made of rawhide with a duck’s face painted on the front. “Do you recognize this?” he asks.
Arthur blinks, reaching up with his other hand. “That’s the bag that the kappa gave to me to….”
“Your friend Kiku is lucky,” says the Magician. “The contents of this bag are what kept him from death.”
The archer interrupts. “But it’s not enough to fully revive him right now.”
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(Long rambling comment is long and rambling, so sorry in advance.) Loved the reference between the archer and Sweden, if only because the reason I eventually went and picked up The Tempest was thanks to an old Swedish animation I saw as a kid. Called "Resan till Melonia", slightly based on the play, pretty as anything and has the most perfect music ever. And wonderful to listen to while reading this. :) (You can have a short listen here.) Ahh. Yeah. Done rambling now.
I still love this fic to bits, you know. I'm so waiting for more.
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