AUDIVA ROCALE, BORDER REGIONS
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Lute
* * *
This carriage is moving way too fast. We should not be anywhere near Radia in this short of a time, but somehow we are. Thelea only looks smug about it, and Xen doesn't question the speed.
Then there's Aaren, who hasn't made any reaction at all to what's gone on in this carriage. He hasn't woken since Xen's return. He just lies back against the seat, his complexion pale and waxy and his face drawn and tight. As far as I can tell, he's experiencing normal sleep, but after what happened to his Arms, who knows what he's experiencing right now? Just thinking about Schiphael makes me want to jump out and get Aaren and I the hell out of here.
With the speed we're traveling, though... we'll be back in Radia before I can even make that kind of grab. I don't know how I'd do it, either. Once Xen stepped into this thing the wards slammed down so tight that I barely have room to twitch in here. I'm lucky that I've been tailing him so long that he overlooks my energy. It's also a testament to my skill as a spy, but I'm not overlooking the sheer luck of the situation.
Shit, this thing's just barrelling away, isn't it? This speed shouldn't be possible no matter how many horses are strapped to the thing.
Xen raises an eyebrow after taking a peek outside. "Don't you think that's overdoing it? We're almost into Crux Radia already." He's trying to hold back a grin, but it's not working.
Thelea chuckles. "We're not overdoing it at all. My Poets are capable of much more than this, working together. With my pet directing them, their focus is unrelenting." She sighs with smug satisfaction. "My Cruxradia is really quite talented. A shame we're still working on the little Rhivendish bastard in my dungeon. With him working with the hive of Poets, we'd likely be unstoppable. Oh Xen, dear, stop looking so scornful. Just because you have to admit that my Poets are aiding your own efforts doesn't mean it degrades you."
Xen snorts. "If you say so. I must concede that this carriage's breakneck speed is rather convenient." He raises an eyebrow. "Did we just enter Crux Radia?"
Thelea titters behind her hand. "Not that you'd notice behind our wards. We'll be within shooting distance of the capital in two hours." She looks off to the side, eyes unfocused, as if thinking of something very far away. "Our passage is protected. Edward is extremely competent at such things. And it seems that Elric is being coerced into playing along, at least for a little bit." At Xen's look of surprise, she grins. "Enough Nul in someone's brain, and they start to become biddable. Even someone as stubborn as my own son. It makes for a superb weapon." She looks down at Aaren. "And, speaking of... how about your own project?"
"He will be ready," is all that the Kommissar says in reply.
* * *
RADIA
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Aaren
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There's nothing here but darkness. There's nothing on the outside, but inside there's... something moving within my chest, or my heart. It doesn't quite hurt, but it feels so nasty that I wish it did hurt. It would feel cleaner then. More just.
Then there's a twist within me that lurches my world out from under me in such a way that even this semi-consciousness fades away.
* * *
Lute
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Aaren opens his eyes. The irises are perfectly white. There's a thin crisp line of dark gray to delineate them from the corneas. His pupils are absolutely gone, and I can't figure out how he could possibly see right now.
Then he stands up, head snapping around to face the Kommissar. He makes a crisp bow, and stays bent forward. The Kommissar only smiles, stroking his thumb in a single sideways line along the back of Aaren's neck.
Aaren shivers, but otherwise stays still.
The Kommissar raises an eyebrow at the reaction, but shrugs it off. He reaches behind himself, then in a smooth motion brings his hand back forward. "Here," he says, "take this back. I've cleansed it of that Radian filth." He hands Aaren's Arms back to him.
I blink. Was that Schiphael? Kuroroi is confused as well. In the flash that I saw the glint of the weapon, it certainly appeared to be so. How did he retrieve it? Was the Kommissar only keeping it in a pocket space for safe-keeping? But when he had tossed the Arms away, the moment had seemed so... final.
Aaren extends his hand, clasps Schiphael's hilt and then promptly tucks the weapon out of sight. He unbends, standing up straight. His motions are as precise and clipped as those of the Kommissar's own elite soldiers.
His Father gives him one final look-over, then nods. "Sit. We don't have long."
Not thirty minutes later, the Kommissar opens the door. He nods to Aaren. Aaren stands, walks to the door, and looks out. The carriage is still moving at a speed faster than I could ever expect any wheeled vehicle to attain. Then, Aaren steps out.
In a split-second, I have to make the decision to follow Aaren or to tag along in the carriage. Then all the hairs raise up on the back of my neck and Kuroroi pushes me out of the carriage before I can decide.
You were going to get caught. Follow your comrade. We can keep ourselves safe out here and notify the Judge as soon as possible.
I have no choice but to follow my Arms. I trail along behind Aaren. He breaks into a run as if hellhounds are nipping at his heels. He's headed for the Capital, but then, so is the carriage. The carriage will doubtlessly get there first.
I direct a question to Kuroroi. How will I warn anyone without Aaren turning on me?
Then, before I can get an answer, he does. A chain whips through the air and a black blade follows it, arcing on a perfect trajectory towards my throat. Kuroroi deflects the weapon, pulling us both into the heat of a battle of Armed versus Armed.
* * *
Lyric
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Stevane's leaned back against the wall, her head tilted to the side, as a trickle of drool collects on her shoulder. Her shenanigan is flumped on top of her head, tiny snores emanating from it. Occasionally it twitches a leg or its tail. At some point its tail tickles against Stevane's ear, and she mumbles in her sleep about "the teapot's under the ceiling" until the shenanigan calms. Then she eases back into the rare bit of sleep she's now managing to catch.
I look at her, keeping calm, keeping quiet, keeping my part of the watch. Mewgul's curled up in my lap, asleep as well, and when I grow bored I snuggle her without waking her. She's utterly adorable, and I feel pretty damn content with her here. I finished writing the rest of the tale of my stay in Audiva Rocale already, Stevane guiding me through it all the way.
'No, just keep writing. Don't worry about how complex the words are. Don't worry about if it sucks. The first thing you have to learn as a Poet is to just tell the truth and write everything down that you possibly can. Later you can figure out how you want to control it. Right now you just have to make sure that you can turn it on at will.'
I raised an eyebrow. 'Turn it on?' Mewgul swatted at my quill. I then scooted her away from the paper.
Stevane nodded emphatically. 'And turn it off, after that. You have to know how to be a Poet, and how to stop being a Poet. You already know it innately. That's how you survived. The Peacock King never caught you because you subconsciously stayed quiet and didn't let your Poetry, your willful control over reality, be noticed by those that would destroy you. That's pretty damned good for a wild Poet. It means you've got good instincts. But those instincts have to be turned into skill, now. In the Poet Hall you're gonna learn it through lots of writing, lots of practice, and some damn interesting trials.'
That's how she explained it to me then. It makes a lot of sense to me, now, that I survived from some innate instinct. And I feel good about the fact that I did survive due to some subconscious control over the situation. I just wish that I could have made it better for Ebrellin-i. That while I was there I could have somehow found out what was wrong with him, or how to clear his name. I guess that's a job for the future, now. At least I'm in the right place to learn. I look over at the Poet King, thinking about that. He's quietly watching my sister. He's wide awake.
He looks over at me, then, and smiles. "I do apologize for the interruption, Jhe Lyric. Could you do the honor of waking your sister up? I'm in a bit of a bad health condition to expose myself to the danger."
I shudder, my bladder clenching. Waking up Stevane is still apparently a legendary feat. I'd kinda hoped she'd grown out of that. Ten years ago, Father was afraid to do it himself, and we'd draw lots to see who got the ill luck of attempting it. It must be something about Stevane's mother, because every time I'd wake her up it would be like summoning a dark creature from the depths of the Void.
That, and also she can set things on fire at will.
That being said, I decide to throw my shenanigan at her, because its life up until now has been short and happy. Jhe h'Logos lets out a little squeak as the furry feathered ball pelts through the air and lands with a whump against Stevane's face.
My sister sprawls to the side, scrambling away from the fuzzy projectile, her knife already waiting in her hand for the unexpected opponent. A phrase tumbles out of her mouth, unintelligible to me but obviously some language of the abyss. "Mvfenegorrethyver..ffft." The shenanigan on her head puffs and spits at the entire room. After a couple moments, Stevane's breathing eases to a human level, and she focuses on the shenanigan on the floor.
She says, "Aww," cradles Mewgul, and then pets both her and her own shenanigan.
It's Jhe h'Logos's chuckle that brings Stevane back into reality. She faces him with a glare, opening her mouth.
He cuts off her reprimand. "Stevane, please listen. The Judge would find what I'm about to say of the utmost importance." He sees her close her mouth, then continues. "There's little time. I promise I will stay in my bed, but you have to go and find Katherine. She's in grave danger, and no one else is going to help her." His eyes have a far-focus, as if he's seeing something in the distance beyond his room's walls.
Stevane looks very dubious, but considers it. Her eyes are distantly focused as well.
Me, I'm starting to feel some sort of eerie urgency, as if I should really be going somewhere right now. Mewgul flutters back to me, perching on my head with an odd restlessness.
Jhe h'Logos waits patiently for Stevane's response. He doesn't have that patronizing look when addressing her anymore. He's deadly serious, and he's not even trying to get up out of his bed. All things that strike me as odd, given what I've observed of the Poet King so far.
Stevane bites her lip, thinking, focusing inward. Her eyes snap back up to Jhe h'Logos. She extends her knife towards him, hilt-first. He raises an eyebrow at it, then looks at her with a sober expression. Stevane's face is serious, but lacks the angry impatience I've seen in her since my return.
"Swear on this knife that you won't get out of bed until I or the Judge come back to check on you."
Jhe h'Logos jumps. His eyes flick down at the knife again, and then he cocks his head at Stevane. "Wise. An oath on your Arms?"
"He's not Arms. Daddy will give me my Arms soon. That's why you can keep Herald, and Herald will keep you, and he will tell the Judge if you move from your bed." Stevane's jaw is squared, her brows drawn together, and if she weren't wearing lipstick I would swear she was Father.
Jhe h'Logos reaches out and touches the hilt of the blade. "I will do so, then, and I will keep this as you say." He clasps the hilt then, and takes the knife from Stevane.
Stevane stands, then sets her shenanigan on the blanket covering Jhe h'Logos's knees. "Good. Let's go." She turns to me.
I pet Mewgul, put a kiss on her head, set her next to Stevane's shenanigan, and as an afterthought hand Jhe h'Logos my written tale. "Stevane made me."
Jhe h'Logos's eyes shine. "I'm proud." I'm not sure which one of us he means by that, but I nod, and Stevane curtsies. "Go out of the city, towards Jhe Averseen's house. She's quite a ways from home right now. And hurry. There's no time for anything else."
Stevane makes a final bow, and then we're off.
