Chapter 5: The Blood in the Snow, The Crack in the Gold
Muddle tumbled out of the shimmer with a loud, desperate sob. It was cold and dark and he hit the snow face first, inhaling a freezing mouthful as he let out a cry of surprise. Then, spluttering and spitting, he managed to free his head from the drift and looked back towards where he had fallen from–
The shimmer had vanished; The Creature and the Dragon had not followed him through.
Though every part of him felt battered and split, Muddle managed a weak sigh of relief and sank back towards the snow. The Ring was warm against his wrist and he focused on it, trying to find his familiar, distorted shape in the curve of the gold.
Whatever it did to me, he thought, fighting to concentrate over the numbing cold and the unspeakable pain, I have to–
The hum of The Ring flickered through him for an instant and compelled him to Do. To Make. To Change himself back to–
Then.
Everything was brightness and the sound of a shrill bell echoing back against itself endlessly. A flare of undulating, pale gold light erupted from The Ring and shot into the sky where it faded and then burst– the fragments of the light fizzling out into the vastness of the darkness. Muddle reared up and toppled onto his back– Blinking as the world swiveled over itself until it finally settled back into focus.
I’m– I must have–! he thought, his ears still echoing with the sound the light had made, and tried to move… Looking towards where his pale, freckled hands should have been but–
”You there!” something massive was carving its way through the snow towards him. It’s wings flared out and Muddle let out a cry of surprise and tried to scramble to his feet as it barreled towards him.
Too slow.
The broad-headed Dragon was arched above him– the spray of snow it had disturbed fluttering down around it. It dipped its great head towards him with a snarl and Muddle made a noise like air leaking slowly out of a tire.
”Who are you? Why are you trying to cast magic within–”
”Lang!”
Another voice, a smaller white bipedal Dragon scrambled beside the wrists of the broad-headed one and looked between it and Muddle expectantly.
”Is that…?” the bipedal Dragon looked down at him, it’s long tapered face scrunching up in disgust, “Told you it was a Lighter– That kind of spell– I told you!”
Lang shook her head with a snort and bared her teeth as Muddle tried to scrunch himself further into the snow.
”Look at it–” the bipedal Dragon sneered and raked the long, hooked claws on its legs through the powder, “Thinks it’s gonna–”
”Does Thrush know?” Lang said sharply.
”I– What?”
Lang swiveled her great head towards the bipedal one and growled, “Did you tell Thrush I had a sighting? That I was–”
”Clipper went after you, without reporting to anyone,” a new, even voice cut off Lang’s, “But I expected as much.”
A beat.
”Show him to me. I, imagine, after all he’d be quite the eccentric to attempt that level of magic within a protected area–”
The sky was swallowed by the ridged inside of Lang’s huge claws and Muddle twisted sideways, trying to escape. But instead the ground fell away as he was hoisted into the cold air by his left leg– the fresh blood from his tattered wings splattering across the snow. Muddle yelped and tried to wriggle free, the wounds in his side shooting a fresh wave of pain through him, and went limp.
”It’s hurt.”
”Indeed.”
Below him Muddle saw a creature that looked like legged cobra with a crest of feathers rather than a proper, scaled hood. It’s body was muscular and graceful and seemed to emit a low, ethereal glow from underneath its glittering white armor as it stretched its neck towards him.
”Who are you,” said the armored creature, his eyes pale as moonlight and twice as sharp, “And what were you trying to cast.”
Lang growled and her body rumbled. Clipper shifted his clawed feet excitedly in the snow.
”I- I–” Muddle swallowed.
The places where The Creature had stuck him with its claws felt stiff and itchy and Muddle wondered if his blood had frozen or simply begun to scab over.
”Oh-! He’s hurt very bad!” Clipper chirruped and craned his long face up at Muddle with a kind of delightedness, “Did your filthy Lighter spell backfire, huh? Did–?”
The armored creature flicked out his wings ever so slightly and Clipper fell silent. Then, Lang’s voice,
”Should we kill it, Thrush?”
The air seemed thicker than before, as if some invisible fog had gathered around him, and Muddle tried to open his mouth– Tried to explain that he wasn’t supposed to be here or–
”Where– where am I?” he croaked, almost without knowing he’d spoken. The new, light parts of him crumpled and folded with the effort.
All three of his captors looked at him. Thrush gestured with his right hand and Lang lowered Muddle until he was level with those bright, pale eyes. Thrush studied him for a moment– his eyes darting to the band of gold around Muddle’s wrist. Though Muddle was shaking and terrified of what would happen if he looked away from Thrush, his own found The Ring as well…
“It– It’s–” he breathed, eyes bulging as he saw the dark veins of distress that were etched into the once smooth golden curve of the The Ring, “H-how–?”
”Quiet,” the armored creature said and then added in a low, expressionless voice despite the sudden interest glinting in his pale eyes, ”Take him back to Lopshide and throw him in whatever cell is small enough to hold him.”
Muddle’s mouth fell open, anger rattling through him and up into the light appendages around his face, ”What were you talking about– Casting–? What d-d-did you d-d-do to m-my Ring– ?! Where are– Ah–!”
Something sharp and huge struck him and the armored creature gave one of his claws a shake, waving Muddle’s blood across the snow with a contemptuous flick of its serpentine tongue.
”I told you to be quiet,” Thrush tilted his head back as if he could see past the night sky. He motioned to Lang, “Now go.”
Muddle let out another sob as his body jerked and swung. Lang moved awkwardly through the snow on three legs and kept mumbling about wanting to “finish it” under her breath. Muddle could feel the blood on his face beginning to freeze as Clipper darted and danced around Lang’s huge, bumbling legs expectantly.
Ahead, Thrush kicked off the ground, his powerful, elegant wings barely making a sound, and sailed above the frozen hills and into the darkness.
- - - - -
By the time Lang had flung him into a cell, Muddle could hardly feel any part of himself and could barely move to flatten himself against the tepid stone floor of the barracks. He lay there for awhile, shivering and trying to make sense of everything that had happened to him, finding only a tangle of pain and fear and confusion.
The shimmer. The Creature. The Dragon. And now these other Dragons.
Muddle could hear Clipper crowing about something on the other side of a thin string of sun bleached bones and herb garlands, then another voice, coarse and low,
”At least let me have a look at him.”
The curtain of garlands parted and a smaller, slender creature with an avian face strode through them. Her eyes were a bright, almost impossible blue and she laughed when she saw Muddle,
“I was expecting a deranged wizard, Clipper, not some scrawny Fae.”
The avian creature hopped towards him, her right, wooden leg scraping the stone occasionally, and stood at the edge of the small cell.
“You’re sure,” she said slowly, giving Clipper a pointed look, “He’s not some foolish wyrie from another settlement?”
“What– Yes, of course!” Clipper snorted and leered down at Muddle who barely had the energy to flinch, “Flower, you should have seen that aftermath of his casting– Lit up the whole horizon line like a second sun or…. Or something.”
Flower clicked her beak and knelt stiffly at the bars of the cell, trying to even the space between herself and Muddle.
“Hello, little one–”
“D-d-don’t,” Muddle said with feeble indignance, the new parts of him puffing out weakly, “Talk d-d-down to me.”
”Shut up, Lighter!”
Clipper kicked the bars and Muddle let out a yelp and scrambled to the far side of the cell, tripping over his wings and tumbling into the wall. Clipper snorted and looked to Flower for approval.
“Out,” she said, and flicked her wings in a familiar fashion, “He looks like he’s already lost enough blood as it is.”
“Who cares. He’s a criminal, probably,” Clipper huffed, “Lighter spy, too. Worst kind.”
Flower lifted a claw, pointing behind her and clearing her throat as Clipper wrinkled up his white face for a final time and skulked away, back through the garlands. When the strands had settled, Muddle struggled to prop himself against the wall of the cell, a new wave of fear and pain gripping him.
“I’m Flower.”
“I’m not st-stupid,” he grunted.
“Alright,” she said, her disbelief buttered over with a compulsive kindness.
There was an odd, dark jewel mounted on her forehead attached to three nearly invisible antenna that kept twitching and glistening in the candle light. Muddle watched them for a moment.
“I know you’re afraid, stranger,” Flower said softly, “And confused and–” the antennae twisted against each other into a perfect braid before unraveling again, “Angry–”
“Obviously,” Muddle managed and then winced, “H-how would you feel if–?”
He let his mouth hang open for a moment, reeling back whatever it had been about to say and then snapped it shut as he shook his head. Flower looked at him with a tenderness– a knowing– that made him sick to his stomach and he felt the new parts of him rattle weakly again.
“It’s okay,” she said, “I just want to tend to your wounds while Thrush is gone- He…” she looked back at the garlands and let out a slow sigh, “I don’t think you deserve to die in a cell, regardless of whatever it was you were doing.”
Outside the barracks, Muddle could hear the sounds of the wind shaking heavy wooden shutters and shivered. He sneezed and clutched his side.
“I d-d-don’t,” A beat. He scrunched up his face and swallowed, “I’m– I m-mean I–”
Flower tried a small, feigned smile, “A bit of magic. Just to seal them– I’m afraid you won’t ever be able to f–” she coughed, “Nevermind, just-”
“M-magic?” Muddle tottered towards the bars, realizing for the first time that they were almost as wide as him, “What kind of m-magic–? Can you–?”
Flower didn’t seem to be listening and had begun to hum something under her breath as light rippled down her antennae and gathered in her jewel.
“Hold still please.”
“What–?”
For a moment, Muddle was floating, submerged in something that felt like water but kept a loose form around his body. Through it he could see Flower’s lumpy form– Mouthing words he couldn’t recognize, as the jewel flashed and swelled. And then. The sound of the river lapping against the sides of the canal… He was full of warmth and couldn’t remember why he’d ever…
Flower set the bedraggled little Fae down on the floor of the cell with a dip of her head and watched his chest rise and fall slowly, evenly.
“Sorry, little one,” she whispered, and headed back through the veil of bones.
.. |
miles {he/they} {fr +0} {lore} | . |