"Until The Fall" - 17/?
Title: Until The Fall
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 05.04.09)
Author's Note: Wow, there is no excuse (though I have several). Thanks to Erin for the sentence-betas. Also, updated the cast page to include Cor, who makes her belated appearance next chapter - or the next...
Chapter Seventeen
When Ahamo stepped into his bedchamber at the Northern Palace, he was surprised to see that his wife was not in their bed. He'd expected to find her sleeping - after all, she'd left him in the library almost two hours prior, stating that she was tired, and wanted to rest her head. Stepping fully into the room, he became further concerned at the temperature of the suite - it was as freezing as the night outside. As he reached for the switch to light the multiple sconce lamps that lined the walls, her voice, from out of nowhere, called out to him.
“Leave the lights,” she said softly.
“Lo?” he asked, as he retracted his hand. He closed the door, dim illumination seeping in through the glass-panes. He could not see her, and instead of bumbling about like a fool, he waited for her to speak again.
“Did you finally tire of your book?” she asked him... from the direction of the balcony. Turning his head, he frowned at the sight of the double glass doors opened wide, letting the eternal chill of the Northern winter into the room. Though it had stormed most of the time since their arrival four days earlier, there had finally been a break in the raging winds and swirling snow that had lasted most of the afternoon, and into the evening.
As he crossed the room, the figure of his wife out on the balcony came into view. A cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, the hood covering her silver hair. At the sound of his approach, she turned to him. “Will you stand with me?” she asked. Nodding, he backtracked into the room to the massive closet, where he eventually managed to locate his coat. Buttoning it, he joined his wife on the balcony.
She stared at the sky. There were no breaks in the clouds, and the lights of the palace created a hazy, pink dome; one that reflected off the snow around them and banished the darkness. It was not as cold as it had been on the day of their arrival. She drew her strength from this cold, his beautiful wife. He openly admired her with eyes that had long starved for her loveliness; her cheeks tinged red, the tip of her nose well on its way, the puffs of air that escaped her mouth as she breathed in the icy night around them.
“Stop it,” she told him with a gentle, secret smile. So, she'd noticed that he was staring.
Sheepishly, he looked away. “Nice night,” he said absently, leaning his elbows on the rail to take in the view. Not as beautiful as his wife, but breathtaking nonetheless.
“It is quite lovely,” his wife replied breezily. “I thought I'd take some fresh air.”
Smirking, Ahamo flicked his eyes towards her, while she stared stoically out upon her frozen realm. “And how long have you been out here?”
Turning towards him, she smiled, a brilliant showing of teeth. “Since I came upstairs.”
“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat. He moved over a few paces, now leaning back against the railing to take her in his arms. The cold didn't seem to affect her the way it affected him, it had always been that way; she was only now beginning to shiver, barely there tremors, after two hours. “What's weighing on your mind?”
“I was thinking about Azkadellia.”
“Ah yes,” he said, pressing his lips together. Worry over Azkadellia was putting a heavy pall on her, even more so since they'd left Central City. “Lo, there is no reason to be fretting about Az.”
She pulled away, frowning at him. “I'm not fretting.” The same stubborn tone he loved, that tweaked at his heartstrings every time it escaped the mouth of his wife, or his daughters to whom she'd passed it on. He'd gone fifteen annuals without hearing those tiny, indignant exclamations... and then, quite suddenly, he was being jabbed with a broom and the fiery mouth behind it was channelling her mother.
Shaking his head clear, Ahamo ignored her comment. “She's got the same capable men and women that supported you. The people are... accepting. Every resource you had at your disposal, she does, too.” He tried on his most convincing serious look; it wasn't often he was the one doling out the sage advice, and he wasn't quite sure if he was doing it right.
“With DG gone, she'll be quite alone,” was his wife's only reply. He still held her by the arms, though she'd put that much distance between them. She stared at him, her face completely passive, no waiver in her voice to give away the turmoil of her mind. He could read it very clearly in her eyes.
“Chances are that DG'll be back within two weeks,” he said, he hoped not too optimistically. “And by the time snow falls in Central City, Az will be heading up to the Island.” When his wife frowned, he countered her with a small smile, wanting it to catch. When it didn't, he sighed. “Lo,” he said slowly. “Do you remember your first few months on the throne?”
Her lavender eyes caught his. “Vaguely,” she replied.
“And do you remember who sat at your right hand the whole time, muttering in your ear that your decisions were going to destroy her country?”
If she flushed at his comment, her cheeks were already too pink with cold for him to tell. “I am not my mother,” she hissed at him, and he laughed, pulling her towards him to place a kiss on her chilly forehead. “There is nothing for Azkadellia to do but rebuild the country,” she said softly, and he could see her internal struggle. She took a moment, turning her head to look out into the night... somewhere in that distant landscape lay Central City. He looked out, as well. An endless expanse of snowy lake and field, the thick forest beyond lost in the darkness. When she finally began to speak, her words took him by surprise. “The news out of the Southeast troubles me.”
“The Longcoats army is no match for the AR now,” Ahamo countered. “No matter how well supplied.”
“I don't think our greatest worry is the Longcoat army, but the driving force behind it, Darling,” she said. “Whoever they follow, the magic this person possesses will only grow in the Black Forest. There is too much darkness,” she said, still gazing out into the hazy, frozen night. “It is too difficult to see what is coming.”
Until its too late, his mind finished for her, his dire thoughts driving a hard shiver through his bones. He was beginning to understand a little more clearly why she was so worried about Azkadellia and the kingdom. “With the help of the advisors and the generals, Az will protect the country,” he said, doing his best to reassure her. He tried to recall what he could of his Ozian lore, hoping he didn't sound like a fool to her as he spoke. “A Daughter of Light on the throne makes the country much more secure than it was even a month ago.”
He didn't need to tell his wife that she could have done nothing to save her country, when physical might failed, when her forces were defeated. His wife's Light was no longer strong enough to protect the country or the people... a very sharp and painful reminder of the past.
“Whatever is going to happen, will happen,” was the only thing he could offer, once he realized she'd fallen into a dark silence. She looked up at him, her lips set in an unhappy line, and she rolled her eyes at his unjustified hopefulness.
“Soon,” she whispered. Something in her voice hinted at a deeper knowledge, one that he could never possibly possess. She was more attuned to the land than he, this land of her birth, these snowy plains of her very existence. “It will happen soon.”
***
In Central City, the doors to the royal suite opened magically as their queen approached. Her guards - no longer temporary - took their position, knowing that they went no farther than the threshold. Azkadellia left the doors open behind her a few seconds longer than normal now, as Ambrose was right behind her, and he would be her final audience of the day. Unscheduled routine, his nightly presence was becoming predictable... and as much as it frustrated her to admit, his company was familiar and a comfort; he was the only other link to her sister.
“Is there any word from my sister and the captain, Ambrose?” she asked him, as soon as the doors had swung shut behind him.
“No, not yet,” he said. He called her by no reverent title, but was too bashful and flustered to call her by any other name. Her mother had never made such a request - and there had never been a time when he found it hard to call DG by her name (though he usually slipped up and called her Princess first). Azkadellia, he didn't quite know how to place. She changed every day, as nature went slowly through its cycle of seasons. Unlike her sister, who was stubbornly only hot or cold. As for him, well he only observed. It helped his concentration... which undoubtedly needed work.
“How long has it been?” she asked, she pulled her gloves off and laid them on a side-table.
“Three days,” he said quietly. He moved to the edge of the room, touching a few things that lay in decoration upon the shelves and surfaces, bits of memory coming to him as his hand slid from touchstone to touchstone... glass, the windows of the Ice Palace; metal, an invention half-created in his hands; ceramic, his mother's good vase...
When his eyes flicked away from the knick-knacks he was touching absently, his eyes caught hers; she was looking at him with a frown, her brow furrowed.
“Why doesn't the corporal carry messages? Surely it would be faster, with a falcon's speed.”
Ambrose frowned, and a quirky smile jumped suddenly to his lips. “I asked DG that myself, once. She told me that 'only owls carry messages.'”
Azkadellia raised an eyebrow, and made to speak, but realized she knew better. No, it made no sense, it rarely did when it came to DG... Az would just have to ask her sister when she got back.
Ambrose continued. “In any case, I doubt the corporal would have agreed to such a thing. He's a scout, not a messenger. Let the guy have his dignity.” His lips curved downwards from their smile, to settle into a thin line. “Also, we wouldn't want to run the risk of him being followed. Or captured, and leaving DG with only Cain as a guard.”
Azkadellia almost smiled, and something in her eye almost hinted at a quiet laughter inside. “I don't know, those two can handle themselves fine on their own.”
“Well, with all the potential for trouble out there,” Ambrose said, after he'd cleared his throat pointedly, “lets just hope they don't try to chance it.” Some happy voice inside his head, the one that Cain had a problem with, told him that the trouble had to end somewhere, and that his friends were safe, and would probably remain that way. But then again, there was the second voice - the one that sounded like Cain - that said even when Glitch had had half a brain, he hadn't been as naïve as that.
The silence stretched on for a long while, before Azkadellia spoke again. “I would have thought there would be another report,” she said honestly. “Even with communication as unreliable as it is in the South.”
Ambrose shrugged his shoulders, and put his hands in his pockets, to harness the restlessness. “Word will come soon,” he reassured her. Whether she was worried about the task DG was undertaking, or just worried about her sister being out on the Road in such uncertain times, his brain couldn't quite discern. The woman before him shouldered burdens that he would never be able to imagine. To worry about rebuilding her country, about enemy forces amassing within her own lands; DG's task, her own palpable loss. From her high perch in Central City, Azkadellia watched the dark clouds on the horizon, and as he'd promised her sister, Ambrose watched Azkadellia.
“I want to be notified when Andrus arrives tomorrow,” Azkadellia said, as she seemed to move past speaking of her sister with a pain that was too evident in her eyes, and ploughed forward to bring their meeting to a close. “As soon as he passes through the city gates.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Actually, Majesty, there was a slight change in the general's plans. I wasn't aware that you had wanted to see him tomorrow,” he said quickly, realizing his sudden error now in not informing her of these facts surrounding the general. “But with time restraints being what they are, I'll be travelling to the Tower tomorrow to meet with the general there. He won't be coming to Central City.”
“Why is Andrus going to the Tower?”
“The army will be conducting another interrogation of the Longcoats they have in their custody, and Andrus wants to personally oversee a few of them,” he said shortly. Like trying to squeeze water from a stone, Ambrose knew without a doubt that the army would get no new information out of their prisoners. But their options were beginning to dwindle down to repetitive action.
With a sigh, Azkadellia turned towards him, her hands clasped together. “When did this change occur?”
“I received notification a few hours ago.”
She frowned, a permanent sad line etched upon her mouth. “Well, then,” she said unhappily. “I'll just travel with you to the Tower tomorrow.” She said this bravely, as the Tower wasn't somewhere she went willingly, or often... or at all, really. Just seeing it in the distance, a tiny reminder on the horizon of events past, was more than enough for her.
“Your Majesty,” he said, surprised. “There is the matter of the -”
“No,” she told him firmly. “Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. A minimal escort can accompany us and we can be back by late evening.”
Ambrose was of half a mind to argue; no, of a full mind to argue. There was a day of parliament sessions that required her presence that started before the second sun was up, and he honestly had to wonder if her battered conscience could take a visit to the Tower. He, himself, required a deep breath when entering the building, and the stark, heartless place always seemed to feed off him, leaving him worn-out and shaking upon departure.
But Ambrose was not paid for his personal concerns. “I will make the arrangements,” he told her instead, giving her a small bow of his head.
“From now on, I want Andrus's reports brought to me as soon as they arrive.”
Ambrose nodded again. Without waiting for her to dismiss him, he turned and began to stride out of the room, knowing he now had a bit more work to do before he could turn in for the night. When he opened the door, his queen called out to him, and he turned slightly in the open door frame.
“Thank you, Ambrose,” she said, and there was a grateful smile on her lips. It was the most relaxed and like herself he'd seen her in weeks, since before the shadow of the coronation had fallen, before the events that followed, the loss of the child and the departure of Cain and DG. And so, returning her smile with one of his own, and leaving the room, Ambrose was left to ponder at what had lifted from her shoulders and given her reason to smile.
***
At the edge of the Papay fields, the travellers stopped for the night. Though it was still early, and the suns were still well above the horizon, Cain wasn't in enough of a hurry to risk crossing the fields in the dark. The group made camp near the same place they had rested on the journey South.
After the horses had been fed and watered, and after the four companions had eaten, DG took Cain aside.
“I'm going to tell Tory what to expect when we arrive in Central City,” she told him, already settled upon her decision. When Cain raised a skeptical eyebrow, she only held up a hand to keep him from arguing with her. “We aren't going to be able to march him up to the palace without telling him why we've got a key to the back door.”
“DG, you aren't going to the palace,” he told her.
She cocked her head to the side slightly, giving him a challenging little grin. “Says who?”
“I do. You are stayin' hidden while we're in Central City,” he said; he noticed immediately, the subtle shift in her eyes. Something flickered, flared, however quietly.
“I want to see my sister.”
Cain smirked. Always straight to the point. Feeling slightly guilty about denying her what she wanted, he shook his head. “Listen, Deeg,” he said low, “I know you're worried about your sister. But its only been three days since you last saw her.” When she opened her mouth to argue with him, he shook his head again, and stuck to his guns - so to speak. “You know I'm right,” he tacked on, when she tried to get half a word across.
With a mighty exhale, DG deflated. Of course she knew he was right, but she wasn't the type to let anything go without a fight. She shot him a dirty look and stalked away; she was prepared, he assumed, to huff and glare for a while, though he was sure by the end of the evening that she'd slowly fade from her indignation back to normal, as if nothing significant had happened. Or at least, he hoped. An argument was always best settled before the day drew to a close.
He stood at the edge of the firelight, watching as she moved to the other end of the camp-site, and settled down next to the kid. Cain had to admit, there was something more graceful, skilled about the way she moved, though she was relaxed enough to let her shoulders fall, her head hang back a little. The conversation struck up almost immediately, and though he thought about moving closer to them, he decided against it, and stayed at the fringe of the camp, staring out into the darkness that had descended upon them.
It wasn't long before the corporal joined him, hands shoved in his pockets, and shoulders tense. The men nodded comfortably at each other, before the younger came to rest a few feet away, mimicking his counterpart's position and demeanor.
“Clear night,” Hass commented.
Cain gave a slow nod. “Cold, too,” he said.
“How long you figure we'll be in Central?” the corporal asked, keeping his voice low.
“I don't want to spend more than the night,” he said, with a non-committal shrug. “Doubt we'll need to be stayin' any longer than that. You're sure the Missus won't mind puttin' us up?”
Hass almost smiled then, the easy half-grin of one remembering. “Cor's old homestead was a Resistance outpost long before I even met her. I think she'd probably be insulted if we didn't go to her for safe-keeping.”
Cain hoped that Hass knew his wife. He didn't want to put the woman out when his empty flat would serve well enough for the twelve hours - or, with luck, less - that they would be in Central City. There wasn't much else to be said, as the sounds of quiet, idle talk drifted over from the other side of the fire. Cain cast a quick glance in the direction of DG and Tory, and just as he did, Tory's eyes widened at what DG told him, and his head snapped towards the two soldiers.
“Is she serious?” he asked, his voice squeaking slightly in raised disbelief.
Though Hass looked curiously towards Cain with an eyebrow raised, Cain only nodded once, very slowly, at the kid. He didn't say anything, watching as Tory turned back to DG and began to speak in a hushed tone, fast. Within moments, DG was laughing and nodding, and the two men standing off to the side had been forgotten once again.
“What's he talking about, Captain?”
Cain sighed heavily. “DG thought it'd be a good idea to let the kid in on her station before we got into the city,” he said quickly, and quite unhappily. Though he knew it would do no good to let Tory figure things out on his own, he didn't like DG's open trust with him. There was something unsettling about the kid, the ease with which he handled things, his desire to learn what he could about the O.Z., his comfort with the strangers he'd found himself thrown together with. Although, Cain could almost understand why the last point was so easy for the kid... wasn't his own family now a former headcase, a Viewer, and a reluctant princess? Not the type of thing that was tied by blood; only shared experience, loss, loneliness could form that kind of bond... and what was the kid, if not lost and lonely?
“Do you really think Ambrose is gonna be able to send the kid back?” Hass asked, since they were on the subject.
Cain's lips settled into a scowl. “Not sure. My first thought was that the Mystic Man would've been able to help him,” he admitted. “So aside from him, I guess Glitch'll have to do. If he doesn't know what to do himself, he'll know someone who can get the kid back.”
“I didn't know Ambrose dabbled in alchemy,” Hass said with a bit of a sly grin. He'd spent enough time at the palace to know that the advisor stuck his finger into a little bit of everything... his thirst for knowledge coinciding beautifully with his short attention span.
“Yeah, well,” Cain said with a grumble. If their time constraints weren't so tight, he'd probably track down the right alchemist for the job himself - Ambrose certainly didn't need to be bothered with the extra burden of a precocious kid of sixteen-annuals, and DG probably wouldn't let him do anything less. He could probably assuage his guilty conscience, but the nattering in the back of his head was going to take a long time to die away. It couldn't be helped, however, and it was this grain of truth he fed his conscience now.
“I'll take the first watch,” Cain said, wanting to bring the conversation - and his ever growing sense of discomfort - to an end. “I want to be on the road again by first light tomorrow.”
“Yes, Captain.”
***
“I don't like this forest.” Her voice sounded frightened to her own ears - she wasn't a scaredy-cat, but Jiminy! “Its dark, and creepy!” Even as she spoke the words, a cry in the night broke the silence around them, carried on the wind; it sent an awful shiver down her spine, and she stepped a little closer to Tin Woodsman... and his axe.
The scarecrow was at her elbow. He was staring into the tunnel of trees; the road here was untended, overgrown and uneven, and it was a bane on his ability to walk. But the path of gold led through the dark forest, and it was the path they were going to take - follow the road, that's all she knew, and her new friends followed. Over the hill, and through the woods...
“I think it'll get darker before it gets lighter,” Scarecrow said, quite sagely. With the canopy as thick as it was, the trees hugging the road as they did, it was more than a certainty.
“Do you suppose we'll meet any wild animals?” she asked, and immediately regretted the question, as the beastly cry called out again, closer, louded. Stupid question, girl, stupid question, she told herself, repeating it in her head over and over until her query was answered unnecessarily.
“We might,” said Tin Woodsman, absently.
Scarecrow fingered at the straw poking out from the cuffs of his stuffed work-shirt. “Animals that eat straw?” he asked so quietly, she barely heard him - maybe he, too, worried about silly questions.
Tin Woodsman cleared his throat, trying not to sound annoyed, but she could hear it in his voice, that slight undertone to which Scarecrow was oblivious. “Some, but mostly lions, tigers, and bears.”
She gulped at a lump in her throat that surfaced and seemed to make itself at home. Bears, maybe, she thought. But it was a forest, not a safari. A bear, strangely, she felt she could handle. The other two, she had no real fear of, like jumping into a bathtub knowing it was shark-free.
She would remind herself, later, to always check the bathwater for sharks.
It took about fifteen minutes of slow plodding over the protruding roots and clumps of weeds before she realized they were being followed. It took another five minutes before she differentiated that to being stalked. A pair of luminescent eyes, reflecting what little light filtered in through the overhanging branches. They walked faster - Scarecrow managed to pull himself together enough to keep from tripping.
Soft, hungry growls followed them like chasing footsteps. Oddly sounding almost like a mocking chuckle, it terrified her. She was readying to break into a run, ready to drag Scarecrow by the arm if she had to, when it finally struck. A gigantic cat leapt into the path - the biggest mountain lion she'd ever seen. With a scream, she jumped backwards one step, then two.
The cat stalked back and forth across the road, blocking the path as it eyed them, a cocky predator. The padding of its paws on the brick road reached her ears and turned her stomach. She grabbed for a hand, but found nothing - oh Gods, shouldn't there be a hand there? Soft and slim and pale... where was she?
Tin Woodsman held his axe out defensively in front of him, more a stave than a blade. The cat stopped its pacing, and in a movement too fast for any to catch, he shot upwards to standing, and was very suddenly, and very plainly, a man. He was thin, lithe, and his upper torso marred with tattoos. Again, she swallowed hard, too shocked to speak.
The lion-man's lips twisted into a smirk, too amiable, too bone-chillingly friendly. The looked from the scarecrow to the tin man, skipping over her completely. “I'll fight you both together,” he said confidently, raising both his fists, and falling into a fighting stance.
Her eyebrows shot up as her jaw dropped down. Neither Tin Woodsman or Scarecrow seemed to be ready to jump at the offer of two-on-one. With nervous glances to each other, muttering between them who would step up first, she saw what they missed.
The lion-man struck... and faster than she knew she could move, she reached down, grabbed a stick up off the ground, and cracked it down on the stranger's head!
He gave a sharp yelp, and his hands flew to his head, to defensively cover his offended crown. “What did you do that for?” he lamented, his voice cracking slightly.
“Back off, Jack!” she exclaimed, holding the stick up threateningly, ready to deliver another blow if necessary.
“Well, you didn't have to go and hit me, didja?” he asked, and looked at her with sad eyes. Sad, familiar eyes...
She shook her head. “You're nothing but a great, big coward!” she declared, watching him as he rubbed his sore head. She glanced back at her companions to see if they agreed with her; both nodded, the scratch of straw and the creak of metal barely heard.
“You're the one in need of courage, not me,” he said cryptically.
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Courage,” he repeated. “You're gonna need it to know him when you see him.”
Wait a minute, her mind cried. “What do you mean?” she demanded, stepping forward to the cowardly shapeshifter. “Know who?”
With a smirk, he said “ -
“DG,” Cain whispered, “hey, wake up!” He was kneeling over her, and shaking her.
Batting him away, DG pulled herself quickly to sitting. She looked around - the fire had died down to smouldering wood and ash, popping and crackling quietly, banked up for the night, and both Hass and Tory were fast asleep. “Why did you wake me up?” she asked, her voice shaky with sleep as she rubbed her eyes furiously, the image of the coward burned into her mind.
“You were gettin' pretty loud,” he told her. “Why were you dreamin' about the Furball?”
Her brow furrowed, and she glanced up at him, into his pale eyes. He looked slightly bemused, as if not sure to be worried or not. “Furball?” she asked, a little dazed still, but coming out of the fog. “You mean, Raw?”
Cain nodded seriously. “You were callin' out for him,” he said slowly, put off by her confusion. “You weren't dreamin' about him?”
She began to shake her head, and then... no, she started to nod, but wait... her shoulders falling, she put her head in her hands. “I wasn't dreaming about Raw,” she said slowly, “but it was him, sort of. Just like it was sort-of you, and kind-of Glitch. And a little-bit me. Its like... an old story,” she finished lamely, unsure of how to explain it to him; his startled expression discouraged her from trying. “I don't know,” she conceded. “Maybe I'm just crazy.”
Cain chuckled low. “You aren't crazy,” he said assuredly, and he moved from his kneeling position beside her, to sit down a little more comfortably. “A bit of a mystery, that's for sure, but we'll get it all unravelled yet, don't worry.” He sounded confident, and his optimistic attitude worried her more than a little.
Who are you, and what've you done with my Tin Man? she wondered, as she studied him with a small smile. There was nothing different, and as quickly as it had overcome him, it seemed to pass.
“Early mornin' tomorrow, you should settle back down,” he said, looking down at her; emotionally, she could feel him trying to pull away, though he stayed in his physical place at her side.
DG sighed, frowning. She didn't want to go back to sleep just yet... or at all, really. Knowing, somehow, that her dream wouldn't pick back up, that she wouldn't hear what the strange shapeshifter had meant to say next. If her ancestress was sending her cryptic messages through her dreams again, as she had to guide DG through her encounters with the Outlanders the year before... wasn't there a better way? And what was with the scarecrow, lumbering around like a lopsided bag of hay, and the literal tin man, like a walking junk-yard? And now a shapeshifting lion with a bully complex, a coward at heart... and Raw's name on her lips?
The more she tried to pick her dream apart, the more it slipped away, going, going...
Cain was watching her quietly when her mind finally returned to the present, and reality. “Thoughts gettin' the best of ya?” he asked with a small half-smile.
“Or something,” she said with a shrug. She scooted closer to him, and when his lips turned down into a frown, and he opened his mouth to say something, she put a hand to his mouth, pressing all four fingers against his lips. “Don't, okay?” she said quietly, and moved her hand away, leaning in and bumping her lips against his. She gave him feather light kisses, and it took a long stretch of uncomfortable seconds for him to return them. She didn't intend much more; some part of her knew enough that even sex wouldn't drive her thoughts from her head. Her dream had shaken her, however, and she just wanted his closeness.
Just for a minute.
When DG pulled herself away from Cain, it was to see an incredibly smoky smirk spreading across his lips. But as she smiled at him, he seemed to remember himself, and with a subtle cough, he looked away from her, leaning away from her ever so slightly, as if physical distance could quell the sparks that still fizzled in the air between them.
She knew she had to keep him talking or he would send her back to bed with a sexily gruff command.
“Wyatt, I'm sorry about earlier,” she said quickly, as he turned back to her to speak. He raised an eyebrow, at first unsure of what she meant; clarity, however, dawned fast, and he nodded his acceptance. “You are right, I just don't like being wrong.” She had to admit, it felt good to be able to open up to him, to bare everything, knowing he understood, and that he knew her, really, without her having to speak a word in defence.
Softly, he cleared his throat. “You weren't wrong, Deeg,” he said. “There isn't anythin' wrong with worryin' about your sister. But, I can't deny that headin' back into the city is gonna be a big hassle, and I want us in and out as fast as possible. And unless you wanna start doin' magic tricks in front of the kid -”
With a reluctant sigh, DG interrupted him. “Are you going to tell me what your plan is yet?”
Cain frowned, his eyes flicking away to the sleeping bodies on the other side of the fire. When he looked back at her, his blue eyes spoke too many uncertainties for her liking. “I need to do some more thinkin' on it,” he said after a moment of hesitation.
“As long as you don't go running off without telling me what you're going to do,” she said, twisting her lips into an unsatisfied line. When he shrugged his shoulders, not really knowing what to say, she let out a resigned exhale. She knew he agreed to little, hated to promise. “I guess I'm just gonna have to settle for that, aren't I?”
Cain near-chuckled. “I'm afraid so, Princess.”
She leaned in for another kiss, unable to stop the tiny smile that surfaced. “What a shame.”
Author's Note II: I don't know what got into me, but that was incredibly hard. I'm going to try to do better. Comments are always nice, but whatev. :)
Table Of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 - 15 - 16
Author: Rissy James
Characters: DG, Cain, Azkadellia, Jeb, Glitch, Raw, Tutor, the Queen, Ahamo, and some old & new OCs (updated 03.09.09)
Pairing: Established Cain/DG; established Jeb/Az
Rating: M
Summary: Sequel to " Of Light". After an annual of living in the O.Z., DG sets out to complete the task given to her by the Gale. Soon, she must learn that there is always more to everything than first meets the eye. (updated 03.18.09)
Extras: Cast Page on livejournal.com (updated 05.04.09)
Author's Note: Wow, there is no excuse (though I have several). Thanks to Erin for the sentence-betas. Also, updated the cast page to include Cor, who makes her belated appearance next chapter - or the next...
Chapter Seventeen
When Ahamo stepped into his bedchamber at the Northern Palace, he was surprised to see that his wife was not in their bed. He'd expected to find her sleeping - after all, she'd left him in the library almost two hours prior, stating that she was tired, and wanted to rest her head. Stepping fully into the room, he became further concerned at the temperature of the suite - it was as freezing as the night outside. As he reached for the switch to light the multiple sconce lamps that lined the walls, her voice, from out of nowhere, called out to him.
“Leave the lights,” she said softly.
“Lo?” he asked, as he retracted his hand. He closed the door, dim illumination seeping in through the glass-panes. He could not see her, and instead of bumbling about like a fool, he waited for her to speak again.
“Did you finally tire of your book?” she asked him... from the direction of the balcony. Turning his head, he frowned at the sight of the double glass doors opened wide, letting the eternal chill of the Northern winter into the room. Though it had stormed most of the time since their arrival four days earlier, there had finally been a break in the raging winds and swirling snow that had lasted most of the afternoon, and into the evening.
As he crossed the room, the figure of his wife out on the balcony came into view. A cloak was wrapped around her shoulders, the hood covering her silver hair. At the sound of his approach, she turned to him. “Will you stand with me?” she asked. Nodding, he backtracked into the room to the massive closet, where he eventually managed to locate his coat. Buttoning it, he joined his wife on the balcony.
She stared at the sky. There were no breaks in the clouds, and the lights of the palace created a hazy, pink dome; one that reflected off the snow around them and banished the darkness. It was not as cold as it had been on the day of their arrival. She drew her strength from this cold, his beautiful wife. He openly admired her with eyes that had long starved for her loveliness; her cheeks tinged red, the tip of her nose well on its way, the puffs of air that escaped her mouth as she breathed in the icy night around them.
“Stop it,” she told him with a gentle, secret smile. So, she'd noticed that he was staring.
Sheepishly, he looked away. “Nice night,” he said absently, leaning his elbows on the rail to take in the view. Not as beautiful as his wife, but breathtaking nonetheless.
“It is quite lovely,” his wife replied breezily. “I thought I'd take some fresh air.”
Smirking, Ahamo flicked his eyes towards her, while she stared stoically out upon her frozen realm. “And how long have you been out here?”
Turning towards him, she smiled, a brilliant showing of teeth. “Since I came upstairs.”
“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat. He moved over a few paces, now leaning back against the railing to take her in his arms. The cold didn't seem to affect her the way it affected him, it had always been that way; she was only now beginning to shiver, barely there tremors, after two hours. “What's weighing on your mind?”
“I was thinking about Azkadellia.”
“Ah yes,” he said, pressing his lips together. Worry over Azkadellia was putting a heavy pall on her, even more so since they'd left Central City. “Lo, there is no reason to be fretting about Az.”
She pulled away, frowning at him. “I'm not fretting.” The same stubborn tone he loved, that tweaked at his heartstrings every time it escaped the mouth of his wife, or his daughters to whom she'd passed it on. He'd gone fifteen annuals without hearing those tiny, indignant exclamations... and then, quite suddenly, he was being jabbed with a broom and the fiery mouth behind it was channelling her mother.
Shaking his head clear, Ahamo ignored her comment. “She's got the same capable men and women that supported you. The people are... accepting. Every resource you had at your disposal, she does, too.” He tried on his most convincing serious look; it wasn't often he was the one doling out the sage advice, and he wasn't quite sure if he was doing it right.
“With DG gone, she'll be quite alone,” was his wife's only reply. He still held her by the arms, though she'd put that much distance between them. She stared at him, her face completely passive, no waiver in her voice to give away the turmoil of her mind. He could read it very clearly in her eyes.
“Chances are that DG'll be back within two weeks,” he said, he hoped not too optimistically. “And by the time snow falls in Central City, Az will be heading up to the Island.” When his wife frowned, he countered her with a small smile, wanting it to catch. When it didn't, he sighed. “Lo,” he said slowly. “Do you remember your first few months on the throne?”
Her lavender eyes caught his. “Vaguely,” she replied.
“And do you remember who sat at your right hand the whole time, muttering in your ear that your decisions were going to destroy her country?”
If she flushed at his comment, her cheeks were already too pink with cold for him to tell. “I am not my mother,” she hissed at him, and he laughed, pulling her towards him to place a kiss on her chilly forehead. “There is nothing for Azkadellia to do but rebuild the country,” she said softly, and he could see her internal struggle. She took a moment, turning her head to look out into the night... somewhere in that distant landscape lay Central City. He looked out, as well. An endless expanse of snowy lake and field, the thick forest beyond lost in the darkness. When she finally began to speak, her words took him by surprise. “The news out of the Southeast troubles me.”
“The Longcoats army is no match for the AR now,” Ahamo countered. “No matter how well supplied.”
“I don't think our greatest worry is the Longcoat army, but the driving force behind it, Darling,” she said. “Whoever they follow, the magic this person possesses will only grow in the Black Forest. There is too much darkness,” she said, still gazing out into the hazy, frozen night. “It is too difficult to see what is coming.”
Until its too late, his mind finished for her, his dire thoughts driving a hard shiver through his bones. He was beginning to understand a little more clearly why she was so worried about Azkadellia and the kingdom. “With the help of the advisors and the generals, Az will protect the country,” he said, doing his best to reassure her. He tried to recall what he could of his Ozian lore, hoping he didn't sound like a fool to her as he spoke. “A Daughter of Light on the throne makes the country much more secure than it was even a month ago.”
He didn't need to tell his wife that she could have done nothing to save her country, when physical might failed, when her forces were defeated. His wife's Light was no longer strong enough to protect the country or the people... a very sharp and painful reminder of the past.
“Whatever is going to happen, will happen,” was the only thing he could offer, once he realized she'd fallen into a dark silence. She looked up at him, her lips set in an unhappy line, and she rolled her eyes at his unjustified hopefulness.
“Soon,” she whispered. Something in her voice hinted at a deeper knowledge, one that he could never possibly possess. She was more attuned to the land than he, this land of her birth, these snowy plains of her very existence. “It will happen soon.”
***
In Central City, the doors to the royal suite opened magically as their queen approached. Her guards - no longer temporary - took their position, knowing that they went no farther than the threshold. Azkadellia left the doors open behind her a few seconds longer than normal now, as Ambrose was right behind her, and he would be her final audience of the day. Unscheduled routine, his nightly presence was becoming predictable... and as much as it frustrated her to admit, his company was familiar and a comfort; he was the only other link to her sister.
“Is there any word from my sister and the captain, Ambrose?” she asked him, as soon as the doors had swung shut behind him.
“No, not yet,” he said. He called her by no reverent title, but was too bashful and flustered to call her by any other name. Her mother had never made such a request - and there had never been a time when he found it hard to call DG by her name (though he usually slipped up and called her Princess first). Azkadellia, he didn't quite know how to place. She changed every day, as nature went slowly through its cycle of seasons. Unlike her sister, who was stubbornly only hot or cold. As for him, well he only observed. It helped his concentration... which undoubtedly needed work.
“How long has it been?” she asked, she pulled her gloves off and laid them on a side-table.
“Three days,” he said quietly. He moved to the edge of the room, touching a few things that lay in decoration upon the shelves and surfaces, bits of memory coming to him as his hand slid from touchstone to touchstone... glass, the windows of the Ice Palace; metal, an invention half-created in his hands; ceramic, his mother's good vase...
When his eyes flicked away from the knick-knacks he was touching absently, his eyes caught hers; she was looking at him with a frown, her brow furrowed.
“Why doesn't the corporal carry messages? Surely it would be faster, with a falcon's speed.”
Ambrose frowned, and a quirky smile jumped suddenly to his lips. “I asked DG that myself, once. She told me that 'only owls carry messages.'”
Azkadellia raised an eyebrow, and made to speak, but realized she knew better. No, it made no sense, it rarely did when it came to DG... Az would just have to ask her sister when she got back.
Ambrose continued. “In any case, I doubt the corporal would have agreed to such a thing. He's a scout, not a messenger. Let the guy have his dignity.” His lips curved downwards from their smile, to settle into a thin line. “Also, we wouldn't want to run the risk of him being followed. Or captured, and leaving DG with only Cain as a guard.”
Azkadellia almost smiled, and something in her eye almost hinted at a quiet laughter inside. “I don't know, those two can handle themselves fine on their own.”
“Well, with all the potential for trouble out there,” Ambrose said, after he'd cleared his throat pointedly, “lets just hope they don't try to chance it.” Some happy voice inside his head, the one that Cain had a problem with, told him that the trouble had to end somewhere, and that his friends were safe, and would probably remain that way. But then again, there was the second voice - the one that sounded like Cain - that said even when Glitch had had half a brain, he hadn't been as naïve as that.
The silence stretched on for a long while, before Azkadellia spoke again. “I would have thought there would be another report,” she said honestly. “Even with communication as unreliable as it is in the South.”
Ambrose shrugged his shoulders, and put his hands in his pockets, to harness the restlessness. “Word will come soon,” he reassured her. Whether she was worried about the task DG was undertaking, or just worried about her sister being out on the Road in such uncertain times, his brain couldn't quite discern. The woman before him shouldered burdens that he would never be able to imagine. To worry about rebuilding her country, about enemy forces amassing within her own lands; DG's task, her own palpable loss. From her high perch in Central City, Azkadellia watched the dark clouds on the horizon, and as he'd promised her sister, Ambrose watched Azkadellia.
“I want to be notified when Andrus arrives tomorrow,” Azkadellia said, as she seemed to move past speaking of her sister with a pain that was too evident in her eyes, and ploughed forward to bring their meeting to a close. “As soon as he passes through the city gates.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Actually, Majesty, there was a slight change in the general's plans. I wasn't aware that you had wanted to see him tomorrow,” he said quickly, realizing his sudden error now in not informing her of these facts surrounding the general. “But with time restraints being what they are, I'll be travelling to the Tower tomorrow to meet with the general there. He won't be coming to Central City.”
“Why is Andrus going to the Tower?”
“The army will be conducting another interrogation of the Longcoats they have in their custody, and Andrus wants to personally oversee a few of them,” he said shortly. Like trying to squeeze water from a stone, Ambrose knew without a doubt that the army would get no new information out of their prisoners. But their options were beginning to dwindle down to repetitive action.
With a sigh, Azkadellia turned towards him, her hands clasped together. “When did this change occur?”
“I received notification a few hours ago.”
She frowned, a permanent sad line etched upon her mouth. “Well, then,” she said unhappily. “I'll just travel with you to the Tower tomorrow.” She said this bravely, as the Tower wasn't somewhere she went willingly, or often... or at all, really. Just seeing it in the distance, a tiny reminder on the horizon of events past, was more than enough for her.
“Your Majesty,” he said, surprised. “There is the matter of the -”
“No,” she told him firmly. “Whatever it is, it can be rescheduled. A minimal escort can accompany us and we can be back by late evening.”
Ambrose was of half a mind to argue; no, of a full mind to argue. There was a day of parliament sessions that required her presence that started before the second sun was up, and he honestly had to wonder if her battered conscience could take a visit to the Tower. He, himself, required a deep breath when entering the building, and the stark, heartless place always seemed to feed off him, leaving him worn-out and shaking upon departure.
But Ambrose was not paid for his personal concerns. “I will make the arrangements,” he told her instead, giving her a small bow of his head.
“From now on, I want Andrus's reports brought to me as soon as they arrive.”
Ambrose nodded again. Without waiting for her to dismiss him, he turned and began to stride out of the room, knowing he now had a bit more work to do before he could turn in for the night. When he opened the door, his queen called out to him, and he turned slightly in the open door frame.
“Thank you, Ambrose,” she said, and there was a grateful smile on her lips. It was the most relaxed and like herself he'd seen her in weeks, since before the shadow of the coronation had fallen, before the events that followed, the loss of the child and the departure of Cain and DG. And so, returning her smile with one of his own, and leaving the room, Ambrose was left to ponder at what had lifted from her shoulders and given her reason to smile.
***
At the edge of the Papay fields, the travellers stopped for the night. Though it was still early, and the suns were still well above the horizon, Cain wasn't in enough of a hurry to risk crossing the fields in the dark. The group made camp near the same place they had rested on the journey South.
After the horses had been fed and watered, and after the four companions had eaten, DG took Cain aside.
“I'm going to tell Tory what to expect when we arrive in Central City,” she told him, already settled upon her decision. When Cain raised a skeptical eyebrow, she only held up a hand to keep him from arguing with her. “We aren't going to be able to march him up to the palace without telling him why we've got a key to the back door.”
“DG, you aren't going to the palace,” he told her.
She cocked her head to the side slightly, giving him a challenging little grin. “Says who?”
“I do. You are stayin' hidden while we're in Central City,” he said; he noticed immediately, the subtle shift in her eyes. Something flickered, flared, however quietly.
“I want to see my sister.”
Cain smirked. Always straight to the point. Feeling slightly guilty about denying her what she wanted, he shook his head. “Listen, Deeg,” he said low, “I know you're worried about your sister. But its only been three days since you last saw her.” When she opened her mouth to argue with him, he shook his head again, and stuck to his guns - so to speak. “You know I'm right,” he tacked on, when she tried to get half a word across.
With a mighty exhale, DG deflated. Of course she knew he was right, but she wasn't the type to let anything go without a fight. She shot him a dirty look and stalked away; she was prepared, he assumed, to huff and glare for a while, though he was sure by the end of the evening that she'd slowly fade from her indignation back to normal, as if nothing significant had happened. Or at least, he hoped. An argument was always best settled before the day drew to a close.
He stood at the edge of the firelight, watching as she moved to the other end of the camp-site, and settled down next to the kid. Cain had to admit, there was something more graceful, skilled about the way she moved, though she was relaxed enough to let her shoulders fall, her head hang back a little. The conversation struck up almost immediately, and though he thought about moving closer to them, he decided against it, and stayed at the fringe of the camp, staring out into the darkness that had descended upon them.
It wasn't long before the corporal joined him, hands shoved in his pockets, and shoulders tense. The men nodded comfortably at each other, before the younger came to rest a few feet away, mimicking his counterpart's position and demeanor.
“Clear night,” Hass commented.
Cain gave a slow nod. “Cold, too,” he said.
“How long you figure we'll be in Central?” the corporal asked, keeping his voice low.
“I don't want to spend more than the night,” he said, with a non-committal shrug. “Doubt we'll need to be stayin' any longer than that. You're sure the Missus won't mind puttin' us up?”
Hass almost smiled then, the easy half-grin of one remembering. “Cor's old homestead was a Resistance outpost long before I even met her. I think she'd probably be insulted if we didn't go to her for safe-keeping.”
Cain hoped that Hass knew his wife. He didn't want to put the woman out when his empty flat would serve well enough for the twelve hours - or, with luck, less - that they would be in Central City. There wasn't much else to be said, as the sounds of quiet, idle talk drifted over from the other side of the fire. Cain cast a quick glance in the direction of DG and Tory, and just as he did, Tory's eyes widened at what DG told him, and his head snapped towards the two soldiers.
“Is she serious?” he asked, his voice squeaking slightly in raised disbelief.
Though Hass looked curiously towards Cain with an eyebrow raised, Cain only nodded once, very slowly, at the kid. He didn't say anything, watching as Tory turned back to DG and began to speak in a hushed tone, fast. Within moments, DG was laughing and nodding, and the two men standing off to the side had been forgotten once again.
“What's he talking about, Captain?”
Cain sighed heavily. “DG thought it'd be a good idea to let the kid in on her station before we got into the city,” he said quickly, and quite unhappily. Though he knew it would do no good to let Tory figure things out on his own, he didn't like DG's open trust with him. There was something unsettling about the kid, the ease with which he handled things, his desire to learn what he could about the O.Z., his comfort with the strangers he'd found himself thrown together with. Although, Cain could almost understand why the last point was so easy for the kid... wasn't his own family now a former headcase, a Viewer, and a reluctant princess? Not the type of thing that was tied by blood; only shared experience, loss, loneliness could form that kind of bond... and what was the kid, if not lost and lonely?
“Do you really think Ambrose is gonna be able to send the kid back?” Hass asked, since they were on the subject.
Cain's lips settled into a scowl. “Not sure. My first thought was that the Mystic Man would've been able to help him,” he admitted. “So aside from him, I guess Glitch'll have to do. If he doesn't know what to do himself, he'll know someone who can get the kid back.”
“I didn't know Ambrose dabbled in alchemy,” Hass said with a bit of a sly grin. He'd spent enough time at the palace to know that the advisor stuck his finger into a little bit of everything... his thirst for knowledge coinciding beautifully with his short attention span.
“Yeah, well,” Cain said with a grumble. If their time constraints weren't so tight, he'd probably track down the right alchemist for the job himself - Ambrose certainly didn't need to be bothered with the extra burden of a precocious kid of sixteen-annuals, and DG probably wouldn't let him do anything less. He could probably assuage his guilty conscience, but the nattering in the back of his head was going to take a long time to die away. It couldn't be helped, however, and it was this grain of truth he fed his conscience now.
“I'll take the first watch,” Cain said, wanting to bring the conversation - and his ever growing sense of discomfort - to an end. “I want to be on the road again by first light tomorrow.”
“Yes, Captain.”
***
“I don't like this forest.” Her voice sounded frightened to her own ears - she wasn't a scaredy-cat, but Jiminy! “Its dark, and creepy!” Even as she spoke the words, a cry in the night broke the silence around them, carried on the wind; it sent an awful shiver down her spine, and she stepped a little closer to Tin Woodsman... and his axe.
The scarecrow was at her elbow. He was staring into the tunnel of trees; the road here was untended, overgrown and uneven, and it was a bane on his ability to walk. But the path of gold led through the dark forest, and it was the path they were going to take - follow the road, that's all she knew, and her new friends followed. Over the hill, and through the woods...
“I think it'll get darker before it gets lighter,” Scarecrow said, quite sagely. With the canopy as thick as it was, the trees hugging the road as they did, it was more than a certainty.
“Do you suppose we'll meet any wild animals?” she asked, and immediately regretted the question, as the beastly cry called out again, closer, louded. Stupid question, girl, stupid question, she told herself, repeating it in her head over and over until her query was answered unnecessarily.
“We might,” said Tin Woodsman, absently.
Scarecrow fingered at the straw poking out from the cuffs of his stuffed work-shirt. “Animals that eat straw?” he asked so quietly, she barely heard him - maybe he, too, worried about silly questions.
Tin Woodsman cleared his throat, trying not to sound annoyed, but she could hear it in his voice, that slight undertone to which Scarecrow was oblivious. “Some, but mostly lions, tigers, and bears.”
She gulped at a lump in her throat that surfaced and seemed to make itself at home. Bears, maybe, she thought. But it was a forest, not a safari. A bear, strangely, she felt she could handle. The other two, she had no real fear of, like jumping into a bathtub knowing it was shark-free.
She would remind herself, later, to always check the bathwater for sharks.
It took about fifteen minutes of slow plodding over the protruding roots and clumps of weeds before she realized they were being followed. It took another five minutes before she differentiated that to being stalked. A pair of luminescent eyes, reflecting what little light filtered in through the overhanging branches. They walked faster - Scarecrow managed to pull himself together enough to keep from tripping.
Soft, hungry growls followed them like chasing footsteps. Oddly sounding almost like a mocking chuckle, it terrified her. She was readying to break into a run, ready to drag Scarecrow by the arm if she had to, when it finally struck. A gigantic cat leapt into the path - the biggest mountain lion she'd ever seen. With a scream, she jumped backwards one step, then two.
The cat stalked back and forth across the road, blocking the path as it eyed them, a cocky predator. The padding of its paws on the brick road reached her ears and turned her stomach. She grabbed for a hand, but found nothing - oh Gods, shouldn't there be a hand there? Soft and slim and pale... where was she?
Tin Woodsman held his axe out defensively in front of him, more a stave than a blade. The cat stopped its pacing, and in a movement too fast for any to catch, he shot upwards to standing, and was very suddenly, and very plainly, a man. He was thin, lithe, and his upper torso marred with tattoos. Again, she swallowed hard, too shocked to speak.
The lion-man's lips twisted into a smirk, too amiable, too bone-chillingly friendly. The looked from the scarecrow to the tin man, skipping over her completely. “I'll fight you both together,” he said confidently, raising both his fists, and falling into a fighting stance.
Her eyebrows shot up as her jaw dropped down. Neither Tin Woodsman or Scarecrow seemed to be ready to jump at the offer of two-on-one. With nervous glances to each other, muttering between them who would step up first, she saw what they missed.
The lion-man struck... and faster than she knew she could move, she reached down, grabbed a stick up off the ground, and cracked it down on the stranger's head!
He gave a sharp yelp, and his hands flew to his head, to defensively cover his offended crown. “What did you do that for?” he lamented, his voice cracking slightly.
“Back off, Jack!” she exclaimed, holding the stick up threateningly, ready to deliver another blow if necessary.
“Well, you didn't have to go and hit me, didja?” he asked, and looked at her with sad eyes. Sad, familiar eyes...
She shook her head. “You're nothing but a great, big coward!” she declared, watching him as he rubbed his sore head. She glanced back at her companions to see if they agreed with her; both nodded, the scratch of straw and the creak of metal barely heard.
“You're the one in need of courage, not me,” he said cryptically.
She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Courage,” he repeated. “You're gonna need it to know him when you see him.”
Wait a minute, her mind cried. “What do you mean?” she demanded, stepping forward to the cowardly shapeshifter. “Know who?”
With a smirk, he said “ -
“DG,” Cain whispered, “hey, wake up!” He was kneeling over her, and shaking her.
Batting him away, DG pulled herself quickly to sitting. She looked around - the fire had died down to smouldering wood and ash, popping and crackling quietly, banked up for the night, and both Hass and Tory were fast asleep. “Why did you wake me up?” she asked, her voice shaky with sleep as she rubbed her eyes furiously, the image of the coward burned into her mind.
“You were gettin' pretty loud,” he told her. “Why were you dreamin' about the Furball?”
Her brow furrowed, and she glanced up at him, into his pale eyes. He looked slightly bemused, as if not sure to be worried or not. “Furball?” she asked, a little dazed still, but coming out of the fog. “You mean, Raw?”
Cain nodded seriously. “You were callin' out for him,” he said slowly, put off by her confusion. “You weren't dreamin' about him?”
She began to shake her head, and then... no, she started to nod, but wait... her shoulders falling, she put her head in her hands. “I wasn't dreaming about Raw,” she said slowly, “but it was him, sort of. Just like it was sort-of you, and kind-of Glitch. And a little-bit me. Its like... an old story,” she finished lamely, unsure of how to explain it to him; his startled expression discouraged her from trying. “I don't know,” she conceded. “Maybe I'm just crazy.”
Cain chuckled low. “You aren't crazy,” he said assuredly, and he moved from his kneeling position beside her, to sit down a little more comfortably. “A bit of a mystery, that's for sure, but we'll get it all unravelled yet, don't worry.” He sounded confident, and his optimistic attitude worried her more than a little.
Who are you, and what've you done with my Tin Man? she wondered, as she studied him with a small smile. There was nothing different, and as quickly as it had overcome him, it seemed to pass.
“Early mornin' tomorrow, you should settle back down,” he said, looking down at her; emotionally, she could feel him trying to pull away, though he stayed in his physical place at her side.
DG sighed, frowning. She didn't want to go back to sleep just yet... or at all, really. Knowing, somehow, that her dream wouldn't pick back up, that she wouldn't hear what the strange shapeshifter had meant to say next. If her ancestress was sending her cryptic messages through her dreams again, as she had to guide DG through her encounters with the Outlanders the year before... wasn't there a better way? And what was with the scarecrow, lumbering around like a lopsided bag of hay, and the literal tin man, like a walking junk-yard? And now a shapeshifting lion with a bully complex, a coward at heart... and Raw's name on her lips?
The more she tried to pick her dream apart, the more it slipped away, going, going...
Cain was watching her quietly when her mind finally returned to the present, and reality. “Thoughts gettin' the best of ya?” he asked with a small half-smile.
“Or something,” she said with a shrug. She scooted closer to him, and when his lips turned down into a frown, and he opened his mouth to say something, she put a hand to his mouth, pressing all four fingers against his lips. “Don't, okay?” she said quietly, and moved her hand away, leaning in and bumping her lips against his. She gave him feather light kisses, and it took a long stretch of uncomfortable seconds for him to return them. She didn't intend much more; some part of her knew enough that even sex wouldn't drive her thoughts from her head. Her dream had shaken her, however, and she just wanted his closeness.
Just for a minute.
When DG pulled herself away from Cain, it was to see an incredibly smoky smirk spreading across his lips. But as she smiled at him, he seemed to remember himself, and with a subtle cough, he looked away from her, leaning away from her ever so slightly, as if physical distance could quell the sparks that still fizzled in the air between them.
She knew she had to keep him talking or he would send her back to bed with a sexily gruff command.
“Wyatt, I'm sorry about earlier,” she said quickly, as he turned back to her to speak. He raised an eyebrow, at first unsure of what she meant; clarity, however, dawned fast, and he nodded his acceptance. “You are right, I just don't like being wrong.” She had to admit, it felt good to be able to open up to him, to bare everything, knowing he understood, and that he knew her, really, without her having to speak a word in defence.
Softly, he cleared his throat. “You weren't wrong, Deeg,” he said. “There isn't anythin' wrong with worryin' about your sister. But, I can't deny that headin' back into the city is gonna be a big hassle, and I want us in and out as fast as possible. And unless you wanna start doin' magic tricks in front of the kid -”
With a reluctant sigh, DG interrupted him. “Are you going to tell me what your plan is yet?”
Cain frowned, his eyes flicking away to the sleeping bodies on the other side of the fire. When he looked back at her, his blue eyes spoke too many uncertainties for her liking. “I need to do some more thinkin' on it,” he said after a moment of hesitation.
“As long as you don't go running off without telling me what you're going to do,” she said, twisting her lips into an unsatisfied line. When he shrugged his shoulders, not really knowing what to say, she let out a resigned exhale. She knew he agreed to little, hated to promise. “I guess I'm just gonna have to settle for that, aren't I?”
Cain near-chuckled. “I'm afraid so, Princess.”
She leaned in for another kiss, unable to stop the tiny smile that surfaced. “What a shame.”
Author's Note II: I don't know what got into me, but that was incredibly hard. I'm going to try to do better. Comments are always nice, but whatev. :)
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