Lament of the Asphodels - Chapter 34: The Elm where Ivory Dreams Roost
Title: The Elm where Ivory Dreams Roost, Chapter 34 of Lament of the Asphodels
Author dracox-serdriel
Artist: LiamJcnes
Word count: 3,100
Rating/Warnings: For rating and full warning, please see the primary post.
Note: Written as part of Captain Swan Big Bang 2016.
[see Chapter Notes]
Emma felt Killian's pace gradually slow, and she did her best to match his step, lest he notice that it was he that set their tempo. She could see two structures in the distance that surely heralded the river's end, which meant their journey would soon be over.
They kept walking for a very, very long time, and when she cast her eyes up to the horizon, she saw that they were no closer to whatever it was they were approaching. They pressed on, and a thousand minuscule steps later, again she looked up to discover they were no closer. She halted so abruptly that Killian crashed into her.
"Love?" he asked.
"We're not any closer," she replied. "We should be almost there."
He heard the terror creep up in her voice, so he wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her tight to his chest. The aromatic oak of her hair drove away the rueful stench that had overwhelmed his nostrils since they woke in this place. She reciprocated the hug, nestling her head between his shoulder and neck as she trailed her hands up his back. She sniffled against him, stifling her emotions as they embraced, and it made his heart ache. And that made his memory stir.
"The river," he said. "Which way does it flow?"
"We checked," she replied. "We checked before we started walking."
"Aye, love," he conceded. "But this world isn't like our own, Swan. It doesn't follow our rules."
She nodded against his chest in agreement. They had followed the instructions exactly, so any lack of progress must have an explanation. In this case, the only justification was an illogical one: the river's current must've changed.
Reluctant though she was to leave Killian's warmth, she stepped back and turned to the river. The clarity of her sight surprised her, for she saw the flow even at a distance, when before she had to lean over the bank for a glimpse of the movement. Sure enough, they had been following the current instead of going against it.
The thought of redoubling those countless steps was like a punch to the gut. She felt weary to the bone, exhausted to the point of tears, and she didn't know why she was doing any of this.
"Swan?"
His voice went straight to her heart, and though her strength was sapped beyond endurance, the simple reminder that she was fighting for something raised her spirits out of the looming pit of despair.
"Come on," she said, gently tugging his arm. "This way."
Neither commented on the gloom in her voice nor the sadness that she could not conceal. They renewed their journey with grasped hands and heavy hearts, gaining precious little ground as they went. She decided not to check the horizon, for she was certain it would deceive her again, given the opportunity. Instead, she frequently glanced at the river to check their course.
They didn't speak as they walked what felt like hundreds of miles. It was enough to feel one another, to hold fast, as they made their way toward the source of the river. Whenever Emma noticed that the direction of the current changed, she altered their course without comment, and he followed her lead without question.
Though they managed a steady pace, apathy and fear became stronger with each step. After a very, very long time, hopelessness lingered over them like an unwanted third companion.
So when the current began to alternate direction more and more frequently and their walking became like a futile zigzag of repetition, neither was wholly prepared for the absolute desperation that their nonsensical movements inspired. Every turn became another straw that strained their resolve, threatening to break it entirely. Finally, Killian could take no more, so he stopped. When she pulled on his arm to get him moving, he released his grip on her.
Emma hadn't let go of his arm, so she yanked hard enough to force him to step forward.
"Go," he said. "I can't anymore, Swan. Go."
Emma augmented her grip on him by adding her free hand over the other and began to drag him along, one step at a time. He shoved one arm away with more strength than he knew he had.
"We're almost there!" she shouted.
He was too startled by the decibel of her voice to realize that she had spoken a lie. It was enough to shake him from his stupor and follow her again, though he knew his strength would soon fail him again.
How many steps more they took, neither would ever recall. What they would recollect, however, was that there was one final step that ended it all. The river raged on beside them, yet the fog over them lifted and their senses cleared. It was as if they both woke from a long, disturbing dream that had eaten away at their rest rather than restoring it.
That same final step left them at a fork in the river, where two enormous gates barred two unfathomable walls. Both were a glum and dim gray, but one rippled with a rolling red while the other flickered with a bright blue shade. They were absolutely terrifying.
But then again, all beautiful things were.
Killian heard a voice behind each, though neither was more than the faintest of whispers. The red-gray gate promised serenity and comfort, a final reprieve after the long-burning crucible of atonement that had been his life and afterlife. The blue-gray door spoke of absolute redemption, that he might be born anew without the taint of his past sins haunting his every action. He was struck with the desire to pass through one or the other, to free himself of the burden of his mistakes and failures.
"We'll have to jump," Emma said.
"Jump?" he repeated absentmindedly as he withdrew from the cocoon of his thoughts.
"To the other side," she explained. "It's the only way we can keep going. Between the river and the walls, we're boxed in on this side."
It was true that the bloodied river split and disappeared, each fork under the wall of one gate or the other, though how he had missed such a fact before went beyond his understanding.
"Good thing it gets pretty skinny right there," she continued.
She pointed to a stretch where the banks were scarcely three feet apart, an easy feat even for two people so exhausted by their trek. He nodded his affirmation when his reply stuck in his throat. Emma walked toward the gates for several paces before she came about and faced the river.
"A running start," she said by way of explanation. "Just in case."
He smiled with pride as he witnessed her rush fearlessly toward the river. She leapt to the other side and landed with plenty of room to spare, and then she turned back and beckoned him to join her.
Killian retraced her steps, but doubting the length of his jump, he went farther for a more generous lead to bring up his speed. Perhaps he afforded himself too far a distance, for Emma called after him. The treble of her voice betraying her apprehension. Her profound concern spun him around like a reeling whip. It was only then that he realized how far he had gone, how close had had gotten to the two splendid and horrifying gates with their many murmured promises.
His journey could end right here. All he had to do was run to one of the doorways of absolution, and his cares and woes would be cauterized by flames or torn apart by wild, ferocious winds. It would be a rightful and dignified end for a pirate who dreamed of becoming a hero. It was certainly more than he deserved.
"Hook!" Emma shouted. "Killian!"
His eyes rose to meet hers, and there he saw such a fear - so devastating and absolute - that he dared not look away. Had he not sworn only hours previous that he would save Emma Swan? Was his will so easily swayed that a few vague mumbles were enough to have him break that oath?
Killian Jones was a pirate, which meant he could not be bought by paltry trinkets like peace and redemption, not when he could yet earn those very gifts through keeping his word, fulfilling his duty, and above all, by his love for her.
"Killian!" she cried out again.
He shut out the allure of the gates by running hard and fast to her fearful eyes, barreling toward the bank before throwing himself to the other side, where she quickly collided into and collapsed against him.
"What were you thinking?" she demanded.
"I wasn't, love," he replied. "Thankfully, I had you to remind me."
She peppered his face with kisses as she pulled him close, and so infectious was her euphoria that he loosed a laugh like no other that surely shook this and every Netherhell that stemmed from the hub of Limbo as it echoed through the continuous emptiness that went on and on and on.
Had they taken a moment away from staring into one another's eyes, they would've seen that they stood at the foot of a great, winding path and that neither the gates of broken promises nor the river of blood were anywhere to be seen.
When the laughter subsided, they wound their fingers together and started down the path of many dangers, which brought them by marauding manticores and titans that could crush bone with little more than a thought. Yet upon their approach, the creatures turned away and paid them no heed, as if they were less than shadows to the sentries of the Underworld.
For all the fortuitousness of their current journey, though, a heavy mist collected around them, and in that fog was the deepest, most sorrowful regret that any mortal soul could ever know. For Emma, it was the shadow of everyone she had ever failed, and for Killian, it was a glimmer of every person he had doomed for his own gain. Though neither saw what the other suffered, they drew close for safety as they continued to move forward. But soon, so great was the amassing regret that the fog no longer concealed their numbers. Along every inch of the path was another face, another reminder, and once they were passed, they crowded the way behind them, following on their heels.
What started as whispers escalated to a cacophony powerful enough to drown out the howls of Cerberus himself.
"You said you'd come back," David's voice echoed in Emma's ears. "You promised me you'd come home. I waited for you for years, but you never returned. And why? Why did you leave us? For a pirate! Because you loved him more than you loved your own family!"
"Why should you live?" asked a man who died at Killian's cutlass. He never did learn his name. "Tell me, why should you live? You sliced me down the front and left me to bleed out in the gutter, all so you could prove you were the ruthless Captain Hook! So why should you live when I didn't get a chance? Those who live by the sword die by it, and they should stay dead! Thief! Murderer!"
"You always dreamed that your real parents would turn out to be spies or heroes who gave you up to protect you," Snow's voice accused Emma. "But when you found us, you weren't happy. We were a literal dream come true, but that wasn't enough for you. We were never enough for you. You kept us out with your walls until the day you abandoned us! You called us family, but in the end, you left us like we were nothing."
A crewman who Killian made walk the plank spoke, "You'll make it to the edge with everything you long for so near you can taste it. And then it'll all be snatched away in an instant. Just like you did to me, you murderer!"
"You abandoned us," coursed through her mind, just as a his was naught but a chorus of "Miscreant! Scourge! Murderer! Blackguard!"
The voices wouldn't abate; in fact, they grew louder and louder up until the moment that they reached a cavernous stone archway with heavily barred doors that hung open. By then, it seemed, the could grow no louder, and they began to fall away.
Emma pressed on, hoping the illusions would pass, and when a single voice remained, she knew there was only one person who would yet speak: Henry. But it wasn't his voice as she had known it, with the youthful, not-yet-masculine timbre of puberty. No, this was his voice as a man, his voice as she had never gotten to hear it, low and bitter for living and dying without seeing her again.
She froze for the dread and horror of that thought. How could she have left him? How could she have abandon him a second time?
How many children did he have? she wondered, for surely he had been a great father. How many of his children's children know his name? How many of his descendants knew the stories of his family's adventures? How many told the countless tales he wrote as the Author?
And that one blessed hope that some part of Henry lived on unstuck her, moved her, and brought her to an enormous old elm tree with leaves of the finest pearl, contrasting the wretched darkness all around it. She couldn't tear her eyes away, even if she so desired. But why would she? Who would want to look away from its sumptuous form and majestic incandescence?
Killian watched her, a beautiful goddess standing before a tree with radiance to match her, made all the more resplendent when wind fanned out her golden tresses and rustled the ivory roosted on its branches. She was outside the gate, free of the Underworld's perils, and thus, his oath fulfilled. Emma Swan was saved.
The victory was stolen from him by the mob of rue, which reminded him that he was a thief, a liar, and a murderer who deserved neither love nor freedom.
I deserve to be trapped here, he thought. I am nothing but a villain.
"No, you're not," a man spoke.
The speaker's words were firm and true, and by some power beyond lament, punishment, and volume, this man blotted out the other voices, which swiftly fell silent after his pronouncement. One after another, the instruments of his castigation ceased their anthem as the fog vanished, leaving but one ghostly spirit in the shape of a man Killian neither thought nor desired to see again. Truth be told, he had seen this form countless times before, standing under the full moon next to the Ghost of Liam and the Phantom of Milah, his face obscured just as theirs, with absent orbs of blackness where his eyes should've been. But now there was no mistaking the Spirit of Brennan Jones.
"Killian," the Spirit spoke. "Do you hear me? You are no villain. You are a good man."
"Compared to you, father?" he sneered. "Hardly a worthy measure. What? I'm a good man because I didn't abandon my children to servitude in payment of my debts?"
"Aye, son, you are a far better man than me," the Spirit replied. "But not for the things you haven't done."
"And what of the things I have done?" Killian demanded. "Shall we list my sins? Might I suggest we sit before we begin. We'll be here for quite some time."
"I know what you did for Liam."
"I did nothing but fail and burden him, right up until the moment I goaded him into poisoning himself," he snapped. "He died in my arms for my stubbornness."
"We both know that isn't true," the Spirit said patiently. "And even if it were, I wasn't speaking of your older brother."
Killian's heart clenched as he recalled his half-brother, Liam Jones the Second, the boy he orphaned so that he could win the favor of the Evil Queen, that he might finally have his vengeance on the Crocodile. Was that not proof enough of his villainy?
"You didn't abandon him," the Spirit continued. "You bargained with the Evil Queen and the Queen of Hearts to ensure he had a good home and a loving family, no matter what was to come, be it the Darkest Curse ever known or the cruelest sorceress overtaking the kingdom and becoming its queen. No matter who won, you gave Liam everything: parents, friends, abundance, joy. All for a boy you never knew."
The Spirit paused for a second, shifting so as not to obstruct Killian's view of Emma outside the gates.
Then he continued, "Before you carried out your instructions to kill me, you told me you couldn't risk the Evil Queen discovering that you had spared me and sent me away. Yet, you risked everything you'd worked for - not to mention your own life - when you demanded that Liam live blessed in her cursed world. And you did it a second time when you demanded that same price from the Queen of Hearts. No villain would've done that, Killian. Your heart is true, son. It always has been."
The silence that followed only assured Killian that he belonged here, in Limbo, for his many sins.
"Tell me," the Spirit said. "If your heart was not true, do you think that woman out there would descend into hell itself to pull you out? You need not believe what I say. I have no right to ask for your trust. Heed not my word, then. You need only believe in her. Surely she deserves that much. But as for me, I will never forget what you did for your brother, which means you will always be a hero to me."
When the Spirit of Brennan Jones faded away, it left a sting of tears on Killian's face. He stumbled through the gate to Emma's side, his footing as slow and unsure as the cumbrous soul he bore. As he took hold of her hand, the sound of metal striking rock jolted the world. It was so startling that it freed Emma from the thrall of elm tree, that she and he could both turn around to see what they had escaped.
And there they were, two living souls who had stepped out of the Gates of the Underworld, just like Orpheus and Eurydice on their wedding day.
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Chapter 35: The Eleusinian Mysteries
Artist: LiamJcnes
Primary Post: Lament of the Asphodels
Chapter Notes
According to Greek myth, dreams come through the Gates of Horn and Ivory. Prophetic dreams, those that embody truth, pass through the Gate of Horn; whereas, those of fanciful nonsense that beguile the dreamer pass through the Gate of Ivory.
Virgil's The Aeneid speaks of a tree near the entrance of the Underworld, around which are all the monsters long ago dispatched by Greek heroes, including the Hydra, the Chimera, and the Harpies. The tree is a great and shadowy elm, and false (ivory) dreams cling to its every leaf.
Author dracox-serdriel
Artist: LiamJcnes
Word count: 3,100
Rating/Warnings: For rating and full warning, please see the primary post.
Note: Written as part of Captain Swan Big Bang 2016.
[see Chapter Notes]
Emma felt Killian's pace gradually slow, and she did her best to match his step, lest he notice that it was he that set their tempo. She could see two structures in the distance that surely heralded the river's end, which meant their journey would soon be over.
They kept walking for a very, very long time, and when she cast her eyes up to the horizon, she saw that they were no closer to whatever it was they were approaching. They pressed on, and a thousand minuscule steps later, again she looked up to discover they were no closer. She halted so abruptly that Killian crashed into her.
"Love?" he asked.
"We're not any closer," she replied. "We should be almost there."
He heard the terror creep up in her voice, so he wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her tight to his chest. The aromatic oak of her hair drove away the rueful stench that had overwhelmed his nostrils since they woke in this place. She reciprocated the hug, nestling her head between his shoulder and neck as she trailed her hands up his back. She sniffled against him, stifling her emotions as they embraced, and it made his heart ache. And that made his memory stir.
"The river," he said. "Which way does it flow?"
"We checked," she replied. "We checked before we started walking."
"Aye, love," he conceded. "But this world isn't like our own, Swan. It doesn't follow our rules."
She nodded against his chest in agreement. They had followed the instructions exactly, so any lack of progress must have an explanation. In this case, the only justification was an illogical one: the river's current must've changed.
Reluctant though she was to leave Killian's warmth, she stepped back and turned to the river. The clarity of her sight surprised her, for she saw the flow even at a distance, when before she had to lean over the bank for a glimpse of the movement. Sure enough, they had been following the current instead of going against it.
The thought of redoubling those countless steps was like a punch to the gut. She felt weary to the bone, exhausted to the point of tears, and she didn't know why she was doing any of this.
"Swan?"
His voice went straight to her heart, and though her strength was sapped beyond endurance, the simple reminder that she was fighting for something raised her spirits out of the looming pit of despair.
"Come on," she said, gently tugging his arm. "This way."
Neither commented on the gloom in her voice nor the sadness that she could not conceal. They renewed their journey with grasped hands and heavy hearts, gaining precious little ground as they went. She decided not to check the horizon, for she was certain it would deceive her again, given the opportunity. Instead, she frequently glanced at the river to check their course.
They didn't speak as they walked what felt like hundreds of miles. It was enough to feel one another, to hold fast, as they made their way toward the source of the river. Whenever Emma noticed that the direction of the current changed, she altered their course without comment, and he followed her lead without question.
Though they managed a steady pace, apathy and fear became stronger with each step. After a very, very long time, hopelessness lingered over them like an unwanted third companion.
So when the current began to alternate direction more and more frequently and their walking became like a futile zigzag of repetition, neither was wholly prepared for the absolute desperation that their nonsensical movements inspired. Every turn became another straw that strained their resolve, threatening to break it entirely. Finally, Killian could take no more, so he stopped. When she pulled on his arm to get him moving, he released his grip on her.
Emma hadn't let go of his arm, so she yanked hard enough to force him to step forward.
"Go," he said. "I can't anymore, Swan. Go."
Emma augmented her grip on him by adding her free hand over the other and began to drag him along, one step at a time. He shoved one arm away with more strength than he knew he had.
"We're almost there!" she shouted.
He was too startled by the decibel of her voice to realize that she had spoken a lie. It was enough to shake him from his stupor and follow her again, though he knew his strength would soon fail him again.
How many steps more they took, neither would ever recall. What they would recollect, however, was that there was one final step that ended it all. The river raged on beside them, yet the fog over them lifted and their senses cleared. It was as if they both woke from a long, disturbing dream that had eaten away at their rest rather than restoring it.
That same final step left them at a fork in the river, where two enormous gates barred two unfathomable walls. Both were a glum and dim gray, but one rippled with a rolling red while the other flickered with a bright blue shade. They were absolutely terrifying.
But then again, all beautiful things were.
Killian heard a voice behind each, though neither was more than the faintest of whispers. The red-gray gate promised serenity and comfort, a final reprieve after the long-burning crucible of atonement that had been his life and afterlife. The blue-gray door spoke of absolute redemption, that he might be born anew without the taint of his past sins haunting his every action. He was struck with the desire to pass through one or the other, to free himself of the burden of his mistakes and failures.
"We'll have to jump," Emma said.
"Jump?" he repeated absentmindedly as he withdrew from the cocoon of his thoughts.
"To the other side," she explained. "It's the only way we can keep going. Between the river and the walls, we're boxed in on this side."
It was true that the bloodied river split and disappeared, each fork under the wall of one gate or the other, though how he had missed such a fact before went beyond his understanding.
"Good thing it gets pretty skinny right there," she continued.
She pointed to a stretch where the banks were scarcely three feet apart, an easy feat even for two people so exhausted by their trek. He nodded his affirmation when his reply stuck in his throat. Emma walked toward the gates for several paces before she came about and faced the river.
"A running start," she said by way of explanation. "Just in case."
He smiled with pride as he witnessed her rush fearlessly toward the river. She leapt to the other side and landed with plenty of room to spare, and then she turned back and beckoned him to join her.
Killian retraced her steps, but doubting the length of his jump, he went farther for a more generous lead to bring up his speed. Perhaps he afforded himself too far a distance, for Emma called after him. The treble of her voice betraying her apprehension. Her profound concern spun him around like a reeling whip. It was only then that he realized how far he had gone, how close had had gotten to the two splendid and horrifying gates with their many murmured promises.
His journey could end right here. All he had to do was run to one of the doorways of absolution, and his cares and woes would be cauterized by flames or torn apart by wild, ferocious winds. It would be a rightful and dignified end for a pirate who dreamed of becoming a hero. It was certainly more than he deserved.
"Hook!" Emma shouted. "Killian!"
His eyes rose to meet hers, and there he saw such a fear - so devastating and absolute - that he dared not look away. Had he not sworn only hours previous that he would save Emma Swan? Was his will so easily swayed that a few vague mumbles were enough to have him break that oath?
Killian Jones was a pirate, which meant he could not be bought by paltry trinkets like peace and redemption, not when he could yet earn those very gifts through keeping his word, fulfilling his duty, and above all, by his love for her.
"Killian!" she cried out again.
He shut out the allure of the gates by running hard and fast to her fearful eyes, barreling toward the bank before throwing himself to the other side, where she quickly collided into and collapsed against him.
"What were you thinking?" she demanded.
"I wasn't, love," he replied. "Thankfully, I had you to remind me."
She peppered his face with kisses as she pulled him close, and so infectious was her euphoria that he loosed a laugh like no other that surely shook this and every Netherhell that stemmed from the hub of Limbo as it echoed through the continuous emptiness that went on and on and on.
Had they taken a moment away from staring into one another's eyes, they would've seen that they stood at the foot of a great, winding path and that neither the gates of broken promises nor the river of blood were anywhere to be seen.
When the laughter subsided, they wound their fingers together and started down the path of many dangers, which brought them by marauding manticores and titans that could crush bone with little more than a thought. Yet upon their approach, the creatures turned away and paid them no heed, as if they were less than shadows to the sentries of the Underworld.
For all the fortuitousness of their current journey, though, a heavy mist collected around them, and in that fog was the deepest, most sorrowful regret that any mortal soul could ever know. For Emma, it was the shadow of everyone she had ever failed, and for Killian, it was a glimmer of every person he had doomed for his own gain. Though neither saw what the other suffered, they drew close for safety as they continued to move forward. But soon, so great was the amassing regret that the fog no longer concealed their numbers. Along every inch of the path was another face, another reminder, and once they were passed, they crowded the way behind them, following on their heels.
What started as whispers escalated to a cacophony powerful enough to drown out the howls of Cerberus himself.
"You said you'd come back," David's voice echoed in Emma's ears. "You promised me you'd come home. I waited for you for years, but you never returned. And why? Why did you leave us? For a pirate! Because you loved him more than you loved your own family!"
"Why should you live?" asked a man who died at Killian's cutlass. He never did learn his name. "Tell me, why should you live? You sliced me down the front and left me to bleed out in the gutter, all so you could prove you were the ruthless Captain Hook! So why should you live when I didn't get a chance? Those who live by the sword die by it, and they should stay dead! Thief! Murderer!"
"You always dreamed that your real parents would turn out to be spies or heroes who gave you up to protect you," Snow's voice accused Emma. "But when you found us, you weren't happy. We were a literal dream come true, but that wasn't enough for you. We were never enough for you. You kept us out with your walls until the day you abandoned us! You called us family, but in the end, you left us like we were nothing."
A crewman who Killian made walk the plank spoke, "You'll make it to the edge with everything you long for so near you can taste it. And then it'll all be snatched away in an instant. Just like you did to me, you murderer!"
"You abandoned us," coursed through her mind, just as a his was naught but a chorus of "Miscreant! Scourge! Murderer! Blackguard!"
The voices wouldn't abate; in fact, they grew louder and louder up until the moment that they reached a cavernous stone archway with heavily barred doors that hung open. By then, it seemed, the could grow no louder, and they began to fall away.
Emma pressed on, hoping the illusions would pass, and when a single voice remained, she knew there was only one person who would yet speak: Henry. But it wasn't his voice as she had known it, with the youthful, not-yet-masculine timbre of puberty. No, this was his voice as a man, his voice as she had never gotten to hear it, low and bitter for living and dying without seeing her again.
She froze for the dread and horror of that thought. How could she have left him? How could she have abandon him a second time?
How many children did he have? she wondered, for surely he had been a great father. How many of his children's children know his name? How many of his descendants knew the stories of his family's adventures? How many told the countless tales he wrote as the Author?
And that one blessed hope that some part of Henry lived on unstuck her, moved her, and brought her to an enormous old elm tree with leaves of the finest pearl, contrasting the wretched darkness all around it. She couldn't tear her eyes away, even if she so desired. But why would she? Who would want to look away from its sumptuous form and majestic incandescence?
Killian watched her, a beautiful goddess standing before a tree with radiance to match her, made all the more resplendent when wind fanned out her golden tresses and rustled the ivory roosted on its branches. She was outside the gate, free of the Underworld's perils, and thus, his oath fulfilled. Emma Swan was saved.
The victory was stolen from him by the mob of rue, which reminded him that he was a thief, a liar, and a murderer who deserved neither love nor freedom.
I deserve to be trapped here, he thought. I am nothing but a villain.
"No, you're not," a man spoke.
The speaker's words were firm and true, and by some power beyond lament, punishment, and volume, this man blotted out the other voices, which swiftly fell silent after his pronouncement. One after another, the instruments of his castigation ceased their anthem as the fog vanished, leaving but one ghostly spirit in the shape of a man Killian neither thought nor desired to see again. Truth be told, he had seen this form countless times before, standing under the full moon next to the Ghost of Liam and the Phantom of Milah, his face obscured just as theirs, with absent orbs of blackness where his eyes should've been. But now there was no mistaking the Spirit of Brennan Jones.
"Killian," the Spirit spoke. "Do you hear me? You are no villain. You are a good man."
"Compared to you, father?" he sneered. "Hardly a worthy measure. What? I'm a good man because I didn't abandon my children to servitude in payment of my debts?"
"Aye, son, you are a far better man than me," the Spirit replied. "But not for the things you haven't done."
"And what of the things I have done?" Killian demanded. "Shall we list my sins? Might I suggest we sit before we begin. We'll be here for quite some time."
"I know what you did for Liam."
"I did nothing but fail and burden him, right up until the moment I goaded him into poisoning himself," he snapped. "He died in my arms for my stubbornness."
"We both know that isn't true," the Spirit said patiently. "And even if it were, I wasn't speaking of your older brother."
Killian's heart clenched as he recalled his half-brother, Liam Jones the Second, the boy he orphaned so that he could win the favor of the Evil Queen, that he might finally have his vengeance on the Crocodile. Was that not proof enough of his villainy?
"You didn't abandon him," the Spirit continued. "You bargained with the Evil Queen and the Queen of Hearts to ensure he had a good home and a loving family, no matter what was to come, be it the Darkest Curse ever known or the cruelest sorceress overtaking the kingdom and becoming its queen. No matter who won, you gave Liam everything: parents, friends, abundance, joy. All for a boy you never knew."
The Spirit paused for a second, shifting so as not to obstruct Killian's view of Emma outside the gates.
Then he continued, "Before you carried out your instructions to kill me, you told me you couldn't risk the Evil Queen discovering that you had spared me and sent me away. Yet, you risked everything you'd worked for - not to mention your own life - when you demanded that Liam live blessed in her cursed world. And you did it a second time when you demanded that same price from the Queen of Hearts. No villain would've done that, Killian. Your heart is true, son. It always has been."
The silence that followed only assured Killian that he belonged here, in Limbo, for his many sins.
"Tell me," the Spirit said. "If your heart was not true, do you think that woman out there would descend into hell itself to pull you out? You need not believe what I say. I have no right to ask for your trust. Heed not my word, then. You need only believe in her. Surely she deserves that much. But as for me, I will never forget what you did for your brother, which means you will always be a hero to me."
When the Spirit of Brennan Jones faded away, it left a sting of tears on Killian's face. He stumbled through the gate to Emma's side, his footing as slow and unsure as the cumbrous soul he bore. As he took hold of her hand, the sound of metal striking rock jolted the world. It was so startling that it freed Emma from the thrall of elm tree, that she and he could both turn around to see what they had escaped.
And there they were, two living souls who had stepped out of the Gates of the Underworld, just like Orpheus and Eurydice on their wedding day.
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Chapter 33: The Kiss of Achlys or, Achyls Awaits
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Chapter 35: The Eleusinian Mysteries
Artist: LiamJcnes
Primary Post: Lament of the Asphodels
Chapter Notes
According to Greek myth, dreams come through the Gates of Horn and Ivory. Prophetic dreams, those that embody truth, pass through the Gate of Horn; whereas, those of fanciful nonsense that beguile the dreamer pass through the Gate of Ivory.
Virgil's The Aeneid speaks of a tree near the entrance of the Underworld, around which are all the monsters long ago dispatched by Greek heroes, including the Hydra, the Chimera, and the Harpies. The tree is a great and shadowy elm, and false (ivory) dreams cling to its every leaf.