Title: Of Light
Author: Rissy James
Rating: M (overall)
Pairing: Cain/DG, eventual Jeb/Az
Summary: The Emerald must be returned to its guardian, and DG is left behind. When a generations-old threat resurfaces, she must gather more than her courage to save her sister, and to find Wyatt Cain.
Of Light
Chapter Six
She was falling. Sliding, down, down. Her fingers clawed at the walls of the tunnel, but there was nothing to grab. She bumped and rolled. Screaming, screaming. The friction of dirt and rocks burned her skin as she slid, down, down. And then out of nowhere, the floor leveled, and again she rolled. Her body connected with a table, sending the contents flying. Metal objects struck the walls of the underground room, yelping their echoes.
It was dark. Someone was shouting. She managed to get herself to her hands and knees when a light flared, and she was being hauled to her feet. The shouts came from behind her, beside her. Right in her ear. Strong hands gripped her arms. Rough hands, it felt like the scraping of the tunnel on her back, that touch on her arms.
Half carried, half dragged, lights passed above her head. Taken down one passageway and then the next, she was without direction. Lost. She tried to gain her footing, to use her own feet to walk wherever they were taking her, but their pace was too quick, her legs sore from jarring against the floor coming out of the tunnel. She couldn't speak, her throat was full of dust.
A sudden stop at a door. It was opened before her, and she was thrown to the floor. Before her was a desk. Again, she got to her hands and knees. Then her feet. She struggled to stand straight. The light was bright, sharpening her senses. Terror filled her; where had she fallen?
A huge man stood behind the desk, watching her. She stared into his stark black eyes; her fear made her willful. She tried to remember before the tunnel, but all she could remember was the never-ending forest, and then the ground falling out from underneath her feet.
“And who is this?” he asked. She wondered if he meant her to speak. He put something down on the desk, slowly walked around to where she stood. Her gaze faltered as he approached, the intensity of his black eyes only heightened her fear. A glimmer caught her eye. What he had placed on the desk, a small emerald which seemed to glow from within.
The man towered over her, her eyes met his chest. He grabbed her chin, forced her eyes upward. His hands were rough, the same as the hands from before. Cold, course, like the surface of a stone.
“I said, who is this?”
She set her jaw. “My name is Dorothy.”
DG's eyes burst open, she sharply inhaled. The suns light bore into her room, invasive. She pushed herself up on her arms, sat up. “What the hell was that?” She rubbed her eyes furiously.
Ahamo was ambling down the hall at a slow pace. In one hand he carried a cup of coffee, half finished; in the other, he held a stack of papers, the top of which he read as he walked. He didn't see his daughter rush out of her room. It was the pounding of her footsteps and the breeze the created as she ran by him that caught his attention.
“DG?” he called after her, but she didn't stop. He turned, followed her. As he came down the stairs, he saw a maid hurry out of the finished parlor. She glanced behind her, almost worriedly, as she walked across the hall. Ahamo stuck his head into the parlor.
DG was running her fingers over the massive bookshelf that took up most of the east wall. She tapped the books impatiently, muttering to herself.
“Looking for something?” he asked her. DG turned to him, noticing him for the first time. She smiled, and nodded, then went back to her diligent search. Ahamo stepped fully into the room, put his papers down on a side table. “You slept quite a while. Tutor wants to continue your lessons this afternoon in the library, since you slept through your morning one.” He was smiling, though she didn't turn to him to see.
“What time is it?” she asked him absently.
“Nearly eleven o'clock.”
She stopped on a book, tapped the spine three times before pulling it out. She opened the cover, scanned the title page. Nodded. She proceeded to pull out the next book, and the next, piling them one on top of the other until she had five.
Ahamo watched her in amazement. “Planning on doing some reading while your mother is away?”
DG turned to him again, and nodded. “The Gale Dynasty. I'm a little interested, you know, since that's where Mother and Az are going.” She laughed; a little nervously, it sounded to his ears.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Um, I think I'll go put these in my room, and then I'll go find Tutor.”
DG left her father standing in the parlor, hurried across the hall and up the stairs. She was a little out of breath by the time she dumped the books onto her bed, but her heart and breathing stopped racing by the time she'd brushed out her hair, put on a fresh dress. It was simple, light, a soft blue color. She really didn't mind the dresses that weren't constricting, that didn't require a corset underneath. The hem fell to her knees, the fabric whispering against her legs.
The dream was on her mind as she left her room to find her magic teacher. She'd dreamed falling down that tunnel, felt the impact of the hard floor when she landed. Her arms had been grabbed... it had been herself, DG, in that dream, hadn't it? But the name and voice that escaped her lips... “My name is Dorothy.” It repeated over and over in her head. A young girl's voice, not her own... but one she had heard before.
At midday, Cain ordered them to stop. They were far from the main road, the one Cain and his men had traveled the day before. He helped The Queen down from her horse, and then did the same for Azkadellia. Pvt. McLauren appeared to take the reins of both beasts, to lead them down through the trees, to where a swift current ran along muddy banks.
In her hands, the Princess carried a small wooden box. Cain had watched her remove it from the saddle bag before McLauren had led her mount away. He said nothing, knowing full well what was in the small chest she held onto so tightly. The tiny little gem that had been the source of so much misery for the people of the O.Z. She had killed hundreds to get it, thousands of lives destroyed, whole towns burned to the ground.
And now we return it, pretend like it never happened.
He smirked, shook his head, a little disbelieving his own mind had come up with those words.
Cain turned when The Queen approached him. “How is our progress, Captain?” she asked. To his relief, she was smiling.
“I'd like to pick up the pace. The closer we get to the mountains today, the earlier we get there tomorrow. And that means, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.”
The Queen nodded her agreement. “I think moving faster would be the best idea,” she said. With the wind that blew through the trees around them, he had to strain his ears to catch her breathy sighs of speech, even as close to her as he was.
There wasn't much to be had for lunch, and they drank from their canteens instead of the muddy stream. Cain had no doubt they would find a lake to camp by for the night. But he wanted to press on. Six hours into their journey, he had seen no signs of trouble. No disturbances in the countryside. But Wyatt Cain refused, as he always refused, to let his guard down.
“You keep your eyes peeled,” he told McLauren and Burrows. Both of the young men were assigned to ride behind the two women. “There are no people out this way at all. We'll be able to see if anyone has made camp, disturbed the brush.” Hass, whom Cain sent to scout ahead, said he found no tracks.
“This road hasn't been used for a long time, Captain,” he'd said when he reported to Cain during their break from riding.
Cain looked behind them, at the road winding off into the trees, road already traveled. He wondered, if indeed they were in danger, if their enemies would even use the road. You're getting paranoid, he told himself. But still... he unbuttoned his holster.
“All right, lets mount up and get a move on,” he called to his group. He watched Azkadellia approach her horse, place the wooden box carefully back into the saddle bag. She looked around and caught him watching her. She straightened her spine, returned his gaze defiantly; with her jaw set and her dark eyes blazing, she still looked authoritative, regal. Almost frightening. He bowed his head and looked away. He didn't mount his own horse until Abbott, the tallest of the six men, had helped both women into their saddles.
Cain watched Hass ride ahead. Cain rode beside the Princess, not a word spoken by the entire party as hooves pounded against the packed dirt road. Azkadellia stared straight ahead, spurred her horse to keep up with Cain's. She did not look at the escort she had requested personally, the man she had said was the only one she'd have felt safe with. Now, in the forest, watching left and right for signs of ambush, Cain could understand her motives.
She was too quiet, too cold in her stony silence. Cain felt a sudden longing for DG. Even in darkness and danger, the right company could make the journey a little easier.
“Captain!”
Hass was riding back. Cain urged his horse faster, left the women and their company behind.
“What is it?”
“A gully. About ten meters across.”
“Full of water?”
Hass shook his head. “No, Captain. There is an old bridge, but I think it would be best if we all walked our horses across.”
Cain sighed. Small, time-consuming obstacles. His eyes scanned the trees, down the road and around a bend, the direction from which Hass had come. Less than five minutes down the road, the ditch cut across the landscape, dead leaves and fallen trees littering the bottom. If a stream had run through there, it had been dried up a long time. The bridge Hass had spoken of was made of logs, bound together and secured in the ground.
Cain helped Az off her horse, so Abbott could walk it across. When Cain offered her a hand to help her across the bridge, she looked at his outstretched palm and then at his face.
“I'm perfectly capable, Captain. Thank you,” she said, not unkindly. Cain nodded, and retracted his hand. He followed behind her, across the little bridge.
“Is there any sign of Longcoats yet, Captain?” she asked him on the other side, as they waited for her mother to cross, followed closely by the two remaining soldiers.
Cain shook his head. “Out this far, I doubt we'd have any worry of Longcoats, Princess.”
Azkadellia turned her head to look up at him. His eyes were ridiculously blue, like her sister's. But while DG's eyes were vast and quiet, Cain's were cool, alert. “Captain, Ambrose had advised me that the Army of Resistance only holds under four hundred Longcoats in prison.”
Cain nodded his head. “The sounds about right, though I'm not sure of the exact numbers,” he said.
“Mr. Cain, the Witch's Longcoat army numbered in the thousands. Over twenty-six hundred soldiers.”
Cain had had this conversation before, with his son. Jeb and his infiltration group tracked Longcoats hidden in Central City, perhaps as they spoke. The Queen's military advisors hounded her day and night to launch an offensive against the remaining Longcoat army, but continually, she desisted. “My people have had enough of war,” was her only reply.
Now, he held out an arm for Az to steady herself on as she hooked her boot into her horse's stirrup from the ground. Held her waist as she swung herself up by the pommel. He nodded his head at her, as she looked down at him from her mount. He turned, seeking out his own horse.
Azkadellia unsettled him. Put him on edge. He mounted his horse, motioned for the others to follow. Their quick canter soon negated the option of conversation. He watched Az out of the corner of his eye; she stared straight ahead. Perhaps she was scared. The Longcoats presented a very small problem, next to this new, veiled threat. An old grudge, of before her days, her mother's days, her grandmother's. Cain was scanning the trees far ahead; though it was never too early to be cautious, they would meet trouble in the mountains, if they met it at all.
“Open the window.”
The sash shot upwards with a bang.
“Close the doors.”
The doors swung closed, evenly.
“Light a fire in the fireplace.”
Then... “DG, light a fire in the fireplace.”
She cracked one eye open and turned towards the mantel. Wood lay ready in the firebox, uncombusted. She glared at it, focused her concentration and her energy. Nothing happened.
Tutor chuckled. “I figured that one might stump you. Creating, DG, is vastly different from physical manipulation.”
DG turned to him. “Well then, how do I create?”
“Master Ambrose told me of the light you summoned last night. Think back to what you did then, and apply it to what you're trying to do now,” Tutor said. His steady, deep voice was encouraging.
DG screwed her eyes closed again. Concentrated on the image of the mantel, the wood stacked neatly behind the grate. Nothing happened. This is ridiculous! She focused harder, trying to imagine clearly, and then she felt it, like a crackle in her bones, in the tips of her fingers.
She opened her eyes.
Fire seemed to burst forth from the very insides of the logs. Flames jumped high, expanded as if they'd been doused with gasoline. Tutor laughed. “Gods, DG! Well done!” DG smiled, looked down at her hands in amazement. She'd felt the power, right within her body. The Light, the magic were a part of her. And all the years on the Other Side, she'd never known.
“Magic is strange,” she said, still studying her hands intently.
“You will understand soon enough,” Tutor said. “Your magic lays within you, waiting for you to but tap your own resources. The more you uncover, the easier it will become.”
DG nodded as if she understood, but honestly... she still found it hard to swallow. Seeing is believing did not always apply.
“Its nearly three,” Tutor said, glancing at the wall clock. They were in what would become Ambrose's study; palace workers had chased them out of the library. The banging of hammers, the movement of maids in and out of the room, had distracted DG, whose attention span for her lesson was weak at best. In Tutor's frustration, he'd moved them to a smaller room, out of the way.
DG ran from the room, less than demurely, after a hurried goodbye and thank-you to her teacher. She didn't seem him shaking his head in amusement at her. The sun room had doors opening out onto the back patio, and in that direction she raced, to Raw who waited for her.
“DG should not run through palace,” Raw reprimanded calmly as she dropped into a chair beside him. He looked incredibly out of place sitting in an elaborate wrought-iron patio chair.
“Shall we walk?” DG asked him. Raw nodded. She was on her feet, and hauling him to his the next second, and they walked down the patio steps, around the house, towards the lake.
Raw chuckled. “DG's body full of energy today.”
DG nodded, and laughed. “I think I'm just a little buzzed off of my magic lesson. Lit a fire! Without matches! Bet that little weirdo brother of Becky St. Clair's wishes he could do that.”
“Yes, Raw felt surge of magic waiting for you,” he said... and stopped. DG's mood had immediately plummeted, and he knew it was because of a memory, of her life left behind. It happened often, too often. She was sad, homesick. Missed her Nurturers.
“DG thinks of friend left behind?” he asked, prompting. Sometimes, she talked with a little encouragement. Other times, held it in, reminded the Viewer of the Tin Man, the same stoic resolve to just barrel forward.
“Oh, she wasn't my friend,” DG said. “Well, she was when I was little, their farm was nearest to ours, and she was the only other little girl around. But that creepy brother of hers, like a monster in a kid costume.” DG sighed. “I hadn't talked to her since graduation, she moved away to college. Mom and Pop, though... they encouraged me to stay home; drive the truck to Hays twice a week for night classes.”
Then she laughed. Sharply. “I wonder why,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I wonder why.”
She was angry now, bitter. Raw was confused by the constant shifting of her emotions. Little time of his life had been spent around humans, before this young girl rescued him from a certain, painful death. He took her hand, trying not to outwardly wince at the tempest raging. She was angry.
“Follow Raw,” he said, sensibly, and began to pull her back towards the house. “DG need rest.”
Twenty minutes later, she was alone in her room. Raw had offered to sit outside in the sitting room, but DG declined. Thanked him for his help and concern, but sent him on his way. Now she was facing the pile of books on her bed. Books about the Gale Dynasty. Her anger at her past dissipated, as she eyed a different kind of past. Her real past.
Dorothy, she thought. I want to know about Dorothy.
She stacked the books in order on her nightstand, and crawled on top of the bed. Sitting cross-legged, covered with a blanket, she picked up the first volume, and cracked it open at the beginning. She skipped through a very long-winded introduction. Finally, a good ways in, a chapter entitled 'Mysterious Arrival'.
DG furrowed her brow as she read. No where did it refer to Dorothy as a 'slipper', as someone from another world. The further she read, the more confused she became.
From out of nowhere, a strange girl appeared at the gates of the Shining City, taking the City Guard by surprise. She screamed, hysterical, begging to be released from her pain. But no one would touch her. The girl bled magic from her hands, essence which dripped on the ground and burned holes where it fell.
Chapter Seven
Night was falling fast. The Queen's escort had slowed their horses to a walk. Cain waited for Hass to report back that he had found a suitable place to make camp. Out in this wilderness, where no one but wild things lived, he didn't want to camp near the road. The countryside was on a gradual incline; they had reached the foothills of the great mountains to the West.
Finally, Cain heard the pounding of hooves, and in the darkening twilight, saw Hass riding quickly towards them. Cain spurred his horse forwards, away from Azkadellia's side, to meet the Corporal. “What have you found?” Cain asked. With the darkness thickening, he wanted to make camp as soon as possible.
“Five minutes ride or so from here is a rock shelter. Not large enough to pitch even one tent inside, but I checked it out and its secure. It will provide protection from the wind, you might post a guard above,” Hass reported. Cain nodded.
“Lead the way,” he said. “We'll follow.”
He rode back to The Queen. “Your Majesty, Corporal Hass has found a spot to make camp. I'd like it if we could hurry.”
The Queen nodded. She was exhausted, but tried not to show her strain to the soldiers surrounding her. “Of course, Captain Cain.” She followed behind the Captain, her daughter riding beside her. In the dimness, she could not see her daughter's face. She focused herself back on the ride; somehow, knowing the day of traveling was almost over, the last few minutes were almost unbearable. The pain in her back and her legs crept up, burning hotter. Almost there.
To have a fire built, the tents pitched, and the horses rubbed down and tethered took close to an hour. Cain had found himself grateful his royal charges traveled light. The night was black and the forest beyond the fire indiscernible. The eight companions were alone in their little island of firelight, the world outside may not have even existed.
They'd put almost sixty miles between them and Finaqua that day. A little over halfway there. They would arrive by late afternoon tomorrow, he hoped. Hoped. Soon they would lose the road, the cover of the woods.
“Two guards will be on watch at all times tonight,” Cain explained to The Queen. “One above, and one below.” He nodded towards where Pvt. Burrows sat perched atop the rock shelter, outside of which the tents had been raised. “I want to be ready to leave before suns light tomorrow.”
“My daughter and I will be ready to go, Captain.” Cain nodded at her. Her quiet, wispy voice made him nervous. She seemed ready to turn into a puff of smoke and blow away on the breeze. I must be getting tired, he told himself. But watching this woman, he wondered where DG had come from, gotten that irrepressible, frustrating spirit.
Maybe the Other Side makes all the difference.
He tried to imagine DG more like her mother, willowy, pale. Breathy sighs forming words instead of a strong, steady voice that thought it was always right. It was hard, but it near put a smile on his face.
He shook his head. Just stop that right now, Wyatt.
The Queen was rising to her feet. He stood, respectfully.
“I think I will go to bed, Captain. Goodnight, gentleman.” She nodded at the other men, who had jumped to their feet. Pvt. Abbott hopped forward, held the tent flap open for her, and then let it fall once again. Cain shook his head in dismay; his men fell all over themselves to help The Queen, but left Azkadellia to him. Princess-sitting; it sounded easy, but Cain knew that misconception didn't quite cover it. This fact alone kept him on edge, even though Az wasn't half the trouble of her sister.
Azkadellia soon went to bed as well. When Cain rose as she did, she nodded at him, but didn't smile. The corners of her mouth twitched, he noticed, and the line of her mouth stretched a little farther. He had no words of comfort for her, not in the company of these men. He helped her into the tent, said goodnight, but was only greeted with silence.
Hours later, Cain still sat feeding the fire. Hass stretched out on the ground beside him, throwing twigs into the flames. Two of their company slept, while two guarded, one sitting in the darkness just beyond the firelight.
“We saw no signs today of trouble,” Hass offered.
“No, no trouble,” Cain said, staring into the flames. The heat he felt was comforting; years in his tin suit had left him appreciative of so many little things. The snap and pop of logs devoured by flames was one of them, reminding him of taking Jeb fishing as a boy. Of Adora, entangled naked with him before the hearth, making love in front of the fire, before they'd had a child.
“Up in the mountains we'll have to be more vigilant,” Hass continued. “There will be too many places for anyone to hide, too easy to attack.”
Cain nodded, and looked at his young companion. The man couldn't have seen much service before the Tower, but he knew what he needed to know, and Cain was impressed with the young Corporal's insights. But he knew now the man across from him was fishing to start a conversation, perhaps to speak his troubled mind. Cain did not deter him, but did not offer anything up.
Finally... “Do you really think they're after the Princess?”
“I couldn't tell you.”
“I thought they had demobilized. A long, long time ago. I thought they were forgotten.”
“I've learned in the past couple of months to stop thinking of things as impossible,” was all Cain said.
“Why resurface now, after being silent for so long? And why go after Princess Azkadellia?”
Cain held his tongue.
“And another thing,” Hass said. He lowered his voice, looked around suspiciously, as if someone might come leaping out of the bushes at any moment. He looked back to Cain. “To leave the palace at Finaqua unguarded. If they are after the Princess Azkadellia, wouldn't her sister be in as much danger?”
Cain shook his head. “DG is perfectly safe.”
Hass was a little curious at the Captain's informal address of the princess. Just the like rest of them, Cain held himself strictly in check around these significant women. This, however, did not dissuade the young corporal from pushing forward. “You think they won't attack Finaqua, just as The Queen said they threaten us now?”
Cain looked hard into the young man's eyes, his tone ringing finality. “DG is in no danger.”
Hass nodded, looked around nervously once again. “I'll turn in Captain,” he said. “McLauren will wake me at three for guard duty.” Cain watched the young man go to his tent, offering no goodnight. He knew he should follow suit, but the fire held him. Demobilized, Cain thought.
The country had embraced their Queen, the beautiful, selfless woman with the lavender eyes. Rejoiced and raised her to her throne without remark. To be summoned to her office, to find her pacing and fretful, had been a surprise.
Cain got up from the fire, went to his tent. His mind stayed back in The Queen's audience chamber.
“Nothing must happen to Azkadellia,” The Queen said, her voice as firm as he had ever heard it. It echoed in his head now. “She knows she is in danger from the Longcoats. We cannot allow her to find these insurgents target her as well. We move with the utmost secrecy and caution.”
“Is hidin' these facts from Azkadellia wise?”
“Captain,” The Queen had said. Her lavender eyes bore into him. “My daughter is fragile, and unstable. With the Emerald in her possession, it draws on her power, feeds on her. You will not have her magic to help you on this journey, not in any significant amount.”
“I hadn't expected it. My men and I are more than capable of handling any trouble that finds us.”
“With the Emerald back under its Guardian, I hope that Azkadellia's magic will be at its full strength. And we will have little to fear on the return journey.”
Cain had shaken his head. His only knowledge of magic had come from watching DG, and her magic was temperamental at best. Serving under the Mystic Man, the old wizard had kept his magic closely guarded, and had never used it in the presence of the Tin Men that accompanied him. It seemed foolish, now, to become so complacent as to rely on such frivolous means of protection. He had always held his faith in his own force of will... and his shooting arm.
The Queen's gaze then, over the empty desk, had reminded him of the Mystic Man; the promise that had been like blood from a stone. It made him uncomfortable, as sadness often did, thinking about the poor old man. He'd been green when he was first assigned to the Mystic Man. Now, weathered and tired, here he was, guarding those who could not guard themselves. Cain stared up at the canvas of the tent in the semi-darkness.
The Queen's voice swirled in his mind, louder than she seemed in life. “Azkadellia must not know of the Outlanders. I cannot stress this point enough.”
“You have, Majesty,” Cain said, trying to be a comfort but wondering if could be. “I will have to inform my men, however.”
“Yes,” she said, nodding. “Yes. They must be informed.”
Cain turned restlessly from one side to another on his sleeping roll. Thoughts of DG pushed, somewhat inappropriately he thought, into his head. He covered his eyes with one hand, blocking out the dim light from the fire, burning still bright outside the tent. Abbott probably fed it now, vigilance bleeding into boredom as the night wore on.
Sleep, Wyatt, he told himself. You're going to need it.
Darkness had fallen over the palace at Finaqua. Dinner had been cleared away, and those that remained of the household adjourned to the parlor. Raw sat quietly by the window, introspective. Glitch had returned to perusing the bookshelf, trying to reawaken his knowledge. DG was pestering her father.
“It was 1972, the year I crossed over,” Ahamo said. In his hand he held a glass of wine, which is was watching intently.
“You getting curious what the bottom of that glass looks like?” DG asked, teasingly. He had been musing quite at length for a while, at her insistence. First about her childhood, then his time with her mother before the marriage, the children, and now he moved backwards to his time on the Other Side. A life in reverse.
“Nixon was recalling the last of the troops from Vietnam,” he continued. “I was sixteen that year, too young for the draft, too young for the war. Thought flying my Pop's hot air balloon as a demonstration at the fair was a good idea.” Ahamo paused, shook his head at himself, smiling. “Best idea I ever had.”
DG laughed. Ahamo drained the last of his wine, began to hum a little to himself. Her heart swelled and tears entered her eyes as she recognized the tune.
Bye, bye Miss American Pie...
She began to sing soft words, accompanying his impromptu memory. When he stopped humming, she kept singing, until she fumbled on the words, and had to stop. Her father was beaming at her. He stood, and kissed the top of her head. “I'll go to bed, I think.” DG watched him leave.
In the doorway, he stopped, and turned back to his daughter. “Did they elect Nixon for a second term?”
DG laughed. “Yeah, they did. Ask me tomorrow about Nixon's 'second term', Dad. Go to bed.”
Ahamo smiled at her, disappeared. She could hear him singing to himself faintly “I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her...” but his voice faded as the massive palace swallowed him whole. She realized that paying attention in her American History class was going to end up being rewarding. She shook her head, laughing. And they say you never use what you learn in school.
Glitch flopped down on the sofa beside her. “Youuu,” he said, dragging it out, “were quiet at dinner.”
“And you,” she said, nudging him a little with her elbow so he'd move over, “went off topic during dinner at least three times.”
He shrugged. “Still glitching a lot. Its hard to keep my thoughts in line. Unruly bastards.”
She laughed. She noticed her second companion, her heartfelt guardian, sitting across the room, watching out the window. What could he see? It was black outside. “Raw, come sit with us.”
The Viewer shook his head. “No, Raw will go to bed as well.” He looked troubled, upset. “DG rest well,” he said. He nodded at Glitch, left the room. DG watched after him, worriedly.
“He looks upset.”
Glitch watched the doorway through which Raw had departed. “I don't know,” he said slowly. “Lots of things could be upsetting him. There are lots of people in this palace, and lots of things going on. He might be picking up on something.”
A second later, he was standing. Moving over to the desk, shuffling through a drawer. He pulled out a thick pad of paper and an expensive looking fountain pen. He sat down in the chair at the desk, his back upright. DG knew in that second that she'd lost him once again.
“I'm going to my room now,” she told him. She didn't want to sit in the quiet parlor, listening to his frenetic scribbling.
He turned to her, then stood. Gave a stiff, proper bow. “Goodnight, Your Highness.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “G'night, Glitch.”
As she walked out of the parlor, he called after her. “My name isn't Glitch!”
Walking up the stairs, she ran into two maids, who also showed her too much respect. She nodded, cocking the necessary half-smiles. Back in the sitting chamber outside her bedroom, she held the door at her back, leaned her head against the heavy wood. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Moments like this, when it was all too much, caused an almost panic. Tears threatened to fall, for no reason at all.
Regaining her composure, she shook her head. “Get a hold of yourself, DG.”
When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw were the Gale books.
She hadn't made it very far into the first one. What she had read had disturbed her. Terrified her, when she coupled it with the dream she'd had. The dream... was it just that? Something her mind had concocted, perhaps because of her agitation after saying goodbye to her mother... to Cain?
It was just a dream.
No... she couldn't convince herself of that. In the O.Z., where magic was pervasive, a part of her life. Where memories were real, pliable things. Her own mother had invaded her head to warn her. Could this be the same thing?
You can't be suspicious of every dream you have for the rest of your life, girl.
She wanted to pick up another book, but she didn't want to read anymore. Instead, she crawled into her bed, grumbled in her head about the maids. Every morning she made her bed, habits from an old life; every night when she crawled in, she found it remade, crisp sheets tightly tucked. Military tight. She kicked her legs around under the sheets for a few moments before hugging her pillow, settling down. She willed her brain not to dream of Dorothy, to prove that it had been just a dream. She sent her thoughts out wandering... and they landed on Wyatt Cain.
Well, that's not going to help me sleep.
She tried to banish him. But once in her mind, he wouldn't leave easily. She couldn't cajole imaginary Cain as easily as the flesh and blood man. She set herself to planning the menial things they would find to do during his stay. It excited her, thinking of the four of them back together again, no stress and no worries. Maybe they would be able to laugh.
They were slavers. Thrown into a cell, small and dark and cold. She heard them outside the door, dragging people down the passageway, people who cried pain and exhaustion. She waited for them to come for her, but no one did. She shared her cell with a girl. When they opened the door and light poured in, she saw the haggard creature was older than she. Not too much older, but could she really guess? The girl said she didn't know how long she'd been there, could barely remember her own name.
“They're Outlanders,” the girl had whispered in fear once. Guards would bang on the door if they heard them talking. But she encouraged her cell-mate, yearning for companionship. Her memories were still a blur, but she was certain, somewhere out there, someone missed her.
“What do they want us for? Where do they take you?”
“To their mines. They mine precious gems... not here, though. I don't know why we're here. My father said...” The girl faltered then, the memory choking her. She crawled over to the girl, reached a hand out until she felt a body, the girl's shoulder. She gripped her companion tight. Human contact was a blessed thing.
“Your father said?” she prompted.
“He said … said they are a part of the mountains.”
The door was wrenched open. The sudden light from the passage blinded her. She shielded her eyes with her hand. A guard came for her, hauled her to her feet. “You,” he said. His skin scraped against hers painfully. It registered somewhere, vaguely. A part of the mountain. “Roke wants you.”
She tried to remember the lefts and rights as she was led away, but it was no use. The labyrinthine complex dizzied her. But, suddenly she recognized this place. This door being opened. They didn't throw her to the floor; she was shown a chair.
The same man stood behind the desk, and she realized that he wasn't a man, whatever he was, this 'Outlander'. The same emerald sat on his desk, only now in a small box, embedded in cloth so soft it looked out of place in the bleak, hopeless room.
Courage, she told herself. Have courage.
Somewhere from her foggy memory flashed an image of a hook-nosed spinster, and her heart blossomed with defiance. Clenching her jaw, she challenged him.
“You,” he said. He chuckled; the sound seemed to grate in his throat. “You are a brave little girl.”
“I'm not a little girl!” she countered, trying not to sound petulant, but firm and cold, like him.
“But you are,” he said. He was amused. “And you're the first one to look me in the eyes.”
DG awoke slowly. Her limbs were heavy. When she opened her eyes, she knew it was still very late. But it didn't matter. Urging her body out of bed, her unsteady, sleepy steps carried her out of her room. Down a twist of well-lit hallways that hurt her eyes; by the time she reached her destination, she could see a little better.
She banged on the door. Moments later, it swung open.
“Who are the Outlanders?” she demanded.
Ambrose's expression of surprise at seeing her quickly dropped. His eyes skipped nervously before he would meet her gaze. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his room.
“Why do you want to know about the Outlanders?”
DG tried to tell him about her dream, but it was slipping away, wisps of smoke disappearing. Ambrose eyed her suspiciously. “You had a dream about Dorothy Gale? The Dorothy Gale?”
“Yes, Glitch.” She left out the part about dreaming she was Dorothy. “Who are these Outlanders?”
“Were,” he corrected. “Who were the Outlanders.”
She waited. And waited. “Well?” she asked impatiently.
Ambrose had moved to the window. It took him another moment to speak; she could see him struggling with the words. Finally... “They were miners... and mercenaries. Mountain people. They were high in the favor of the last King of the O.Z., Pastor... lets just say he would have given the Witch good competition in cruelty.”
He sent her back to bed, stammering. She always put up a fight, with everything she was asked. Part of him found it infuriating, the other part was always amused. But when he was alone, he went back to the window. Stared out in the direction of the maze, unable to see it in the darkness.
They are in greater danger than she anticipated, he thought, thinking of The Queen and all her careful planning. If DG is having dreams about Dorothy, about the Outlanders, we might all be in danger.
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