Author's Notes:
This is a bit of a crackfic. I've tried to make it plausible - I wouldn't be surprised at all if fairies could move around the wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff at a whim (hm, Doctor Who crossover? Maybe later). But the truth is I was so amused by the thought of Childermass singing AC/DC that I had to write it down (since I can't draw that well).
...
Give me that man
That is not passion's slave, and I will wear him
In my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart,
As I do thee.
Hamlet: Act III, Scene ii, 71-74
...
September 1825
John Childermass was more tired than he had ever been in his life.
He had spent two weeks crisscrossing the Scottish Highlands on foot, trying to find the mysterious magical school referenced in the new King's Book. Though he was generally indifferent to discomfort or even pain, a fortnight of scrambling over rocky, heather-clad hills (in the rain, as likely as not) had taken its toll. Added to this was the mental fatigue that came from trying to force location spells to do as they were bid, when all they were interested in doing was writhing away from his control like obstinate serpents. This proved that something was there, something protected by powerful magic - but beyond that, he had learned nothing.
Finally admitting defeat (temporary defeat, he swore to himself), he retreated to a pub on the outskirts of Inverness, where he sat dispiritedly turning over the Cards of Marseilles at a tiny table in the darkest corner. They told him exactly the same thing that they had been saying all along: the evasive school was in Scotland, and it was hidden. "I know it's hidden," he snarled under his breath. "Haven't I wasted the last two weeks proving that? What I need to know is where and how." He shuffled and dealt again. "Magically hidden. Wonderful! I would never have guessed!"
At this point the landlord ambled over and plopped a pint of ale and a platter of food in front of him. "Tatties and neeps," he said oracularly, and ambled away again. Childermass put his cards away and shoveled the potatoes and turnips into his mouth, grateful for hot food after days of stale bread and dried meat.
He wished he had asked Segundus to come with him. He'd considered it, but he knew that the responsibilities of being headmaster left his other half with little time to go on excursions into the countryside, so in the end he hadn't even brought it up. Tender considerations aside, it would have been vastly helpful to have someone to talk to - someone who understood magic, and was patient, and was willing to make things up as they went along.
By the time he had finished eating, he had made up his mind to return to Starecross right away instead of waiting until he had had a night's rest. I will sleep better at John's side, anyway, he thought.
One of the things the pub lacked - along with more than one lamp, windows that opened, and anyone capable of operating a broom - was a mirror. Childermass considered his options. Then he discreetly slopped the last of his ale onto the table. Making sure no one was looking in his direction, he set out a few coins to pay for his meal and disappeared into the reflection in the beery puddle.
He realized his mistake almost instantly. In his present state of exhaustion, the King's Roads - tricky to navigate at the best of times - were downright hallucinatory. Doorways popped in and out of existence at the edge of his vision, haloed by unnamable colors. Blinking repeatedly, he tried to hold the image of John Segundus before his mind's eye. One foot after the other. Think of John. Keep walking.
It was not sufficient. His inner vision was muddled by the frustrations of the past weeks and the aching of his limbs. I'm getting too old for sleeping out-of-doors in all weathers, he thought grimly. The familiar exit into the Mirror Room at Starecross Hall did not appear, and continued not to appear, no matter how far he walked nor how hard he tried to cudgel his thoughts into submission.
After this had gone on for an indefinite period of time, Childermass became aware that a bell was tolling.
A chill swept through him. He attempted to stop, take stock of his surroundings, and cast any necessary spells of protection - but he could not stop. His feet carried him onward without consulting his opinion in the matter.
Panic dispersed the fog engulfing his mind long enough for him to notice that he was being drawn off the main road and into a dark, tunnel-like passage. As he walked, the bell stopt tolling and was replaced by a sound unlike anything he had ever heard before - harsh and grating, having some of the rhythm of music, but without any of music's beauty. He wanted to cover his ears with his hands, but they did not respond to his wishes.
He soon emerged from the passage and found himself at the back of a stage in a darkened amphitheatre. The magic that had hold of him halted him there, so he was able to take a good look around. The theatre seats were full of whispering, seething motion, but he could not make out the shapes of those who filled them. The only illumination was a beam of violently purple light coming from somewhere overhead. It was focused on the front of the stage, which was occupied by four of the most bizarre people Childermass had ever seen.
In size and shape they were more or less human, but their silhouettes were rendered outlandish by their clothing - a combination of tight trousers, flapping sleeves, spiked shoulder-pads, silver rivets, and high-heeled boots that was startling even by Faerie's sartorial standards. Their hair was long and black and stood out crazily in all directions. Their faces were dead white, their eyes outlined in sweeping wings of black paint, their lips blackened as well.
Two of them held what looked like the offspring of an unholy union between a guitar and an oversized battleaxe. They held the axes across their bodies and struck at the strings, producing cacophony. The third person sat in the midst of a semicircle of oddly metallic drums, upon which it flailed and pounded with joyous abandon. The fourth figure - the one with the most rivets, the widest sleeves, the biggest spikes, and hair pulled into a high topknot - strutted back and forth at the edge of the stage, screaming hoarsely. The barely-visible crowd screamed back.
It took a moment for Childermass to realize that this person was (in the loosest sense of the word) singing, and that the audience was expressing its approval. What sort of demon's realm have I stumbled into? he wondered, as the singer roared Hell's bells! over and over again. No one seems to have noticed me. If I can just find the right spell to get my body back, maybe I can -
Too late. Before his addled brain could come up with any thing useful, the howling, gyrating figure had caught sight of him. Breaking off mid-screech, it made a curt gesture with one hand. Silence fell. The purple light shifted and came to rest on Childermass, standing like a horrified statue at the mouth of the passage.
"What have we here?" said the singer, advancing with a great creaking of leather and clinking of sliver chains. "A guest in my halls - and a human, at that! Tell me, what year is it in the land where you belong? No, don't tell me, I'm quite good at this!" Circling Childermass, the singer went on: "Judging by the cut of your coat, not to mention that appalling hat, I'd say England, early 19th century. Am I right?" He paused theatrically, garnering a laugh from the audience as Childermass glared helplessly. "You, sir, are in for a treat. Back in eighteen-whatever, the most exciting thing you have to look forward to is the British folk music revival. One hundred and fifty years ahead (give or take), you humans really start to get interesting! Trust me, I'm the Singing King of Desperate-times. I know music."
He turned to face the assembly and raised his arms high. "My people!" he cried. "There has been a change in tonight's program! Let me introduce you to our new lead singer - The Trespassing Magician!"
The crowd whooped and cheered.
Childermass started to relax, which a small but vocal part of his consciousness knew meant that the enchantment nearly had total control. With his last ounce of willpower, he dragged two words to the front of his mind, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. Cor cordis. Cor cordis. Cor cordis. Cor...
...
When the burning started, John Segundus was in his office, tutoring Jane Honeyfoot while Mrs Honeyfoot benevolently looked on. He stopt in the midst of a discussion of Sympathetic Magic (specifically, ways that different cultures dealt with the loss of baby teeth) and pressed a hand to his chest, frowning.
"What is it, Mr Segundus?" said Jane, looking up from her note-taking.
Her mother paused in her needlework and observed: "You look pale, sir! Is it one of your headachs?"
"No, I only feel a trifle warm," said Segundus, wiping his brow.
"Well, I don't blame you. I told Charles it was too fine a day to light the fires, but would he listen? Now we're roasting like Christmas geese," said Mrs Honeyfoot.
"Is it heartburn, sir? There was too much pepper in the soup at luncheon, I thought," said Jane.
Segundus smiled at their concern, then winced. "Heartburn? Perhaps it is - of a sort. Ladies, would you mind terribly if we continued this tomorrow? I think I should like to retire for the rest of the afternoon."
They excused him gladly, knowing that if the dutiful Mr Segundus felt poorly enough to interrupt a tutoring session, he was probably in a great deal more pain than he was willing to admit. Mrs Honeyfoot insisted on escorting him to his bedroom door. "Can I get you any thing, my dear sir? I can ask Mrs Pleasance to bring you some tea, or something a little stronger..."
"No, no, Mrs Honeyfoot. I shall be quite all right. I need to lay down for a while, that is all. Please do not concern yourself," said Segundus, and shut himself in his room as graciously as possible.
As soon as he was alone, he stripped off his coat and waistcoat, pulled up his white linen shirt, and stared down at his chest in alarm. There was an orange, fist-sized glow coming from under the skin in the region of his heart, as though that organ were on fire - which was not far off from how it felt.
"D- it, John Childermass," he said, "what have you gotten yourself into?"
He hurriedly shrugged his coat back on and grabbed the ewer and basin that stood on his beside table. Setting the basin on the floor, he sloshed some water into it, then began drawing lines over it with one finger - quartering the circle, then touching each quarter in turn and studying the filaments and dots of light that appeared.
"Not in England, not in Scotland, not in Wales, not in France...not on Earth," he muttered, chewing his lower lip in agitation. "I knew it."
Reaching under the bed, he drew out a dented tin box and flung back the lid, revealing a sheaf of papers, much scribbled-on. He shuffled through them quickly, whistling through his teeth.
"Aha!" he exclaimed, pulling out a particular sheet and running his eyes over it swiftly. "Thank God that Mr Strange wrote me about his encounter with King George...Ormskirk's Spell for Dispelling Illusion and Correcting Wrong Ideas. Let's see: moon at my eyes...bees at my ears...salt in my mouth...iron nail in my hand...heart in a secret place...color red is beneficial...right." He massaged his chest, which was now glowing so brightly that it shewed through the fabric of his shirt. "That smarts a bit."
He went over to the wardrobe, rummaged inside it, and selected a red woolen muffler that Mrs Pleasance had knitted for him the previous Chirstmas. After wrapping it around his neck he moved over to his dressing-table, took up the straight-edged razor that rested upon it, and made a small cut on his left palm. Then he set the razor back down and turned his shaving mirror to face him. "Cor cordis," he said, and went through.
On the other side of the mirror, the burning, glowing spot in his chest contracted and shot down his legs and into the ground. There it became a thin trail of light that ran from where he stood to some unknown point in the distance. If he looked right at the trail, it became faint and hard to see, but if he kept it in the corner of his eye it was clearly visible. He followed it.
Here I am, wandering the King's Roads by myself, he thought, picking his way over a heap of fallen masonry, and I'm not even interested. All I want is to find that stupid man before he gets hurt. Rubbing his thumb against the small wound in his left hand, he cast his memory back to the night when he and Childermass had first performed the Cor Cordis.
...
A few months after their association had changed from acquaintances to friends to...something altogether more intense, Segundus had expressed his concern at Childermass's habitual use of the Roads. In his opinion, they were far too dangerous to be used as a mere shortcut when Childermass was in a hurry to get somewhere.
"But think of it, John," Childermass had said. "The ability to travel anywhere - anywhere! - in almost no time at all! Haven't you enjoyed me being able to come home to you any time I like, no matter where I may be working?"
"Of course I have," Segundus had replied, taking the other man's hand. "But the risk is so great! I know you are an experienced traveler and magician, but there are so many unknown factors in Faerie. Surely our own world has enough dangers in it without seeking out new ones elsewhere? I hope I never have to think that I...lost you for good, simply because we were too impatient to wait a little longer until our next meeting."
Childermass had brought Segundus's hand to his lips and dropt a kiss on the knuckles. "There's something in what you say, love." They sat quietly for a while, staring into the fire that crackled cheerfully in Segundus's bedroom grate. "Tell you what," Childermass had continued. "I know of a spell that works as a connection between two people. It's called the Cor Cordis."
" 'Heart of heart'?" translated Segundus. "Isn't the phrase 'heart of hearts?' "
"Why, have you got more than one?"
"Fair point. What does it do?"
"It links the two participants. So if either of us were ever in trouble, here or in Faerie, we could trigger the spell and it would alert the other one instantly, and guide them to where they needed to go."
"Really? I have never heard of such a thing!"
"It's a combination of a spell to make a path between two beings and other, more...primitive...magic. Blood-and-bone stuff."
"I see." Segundus gave the matter some thought, but not for long. "Let us do it. Now."
"Now?"
"I would find it immensely reassuring, John."
"All right. We'd better take our shirts off. It's going to get a bit messy."
So they had done it, standing in the firelight, stripped to the waist, while Childermass recited the spell. Then he took a small knife from his boot sheath and made a small incision in the skin over his heart. He did the same to Segundus. "Sorry," he said, when Segundus had flinched.
"Not to worry. Now what?"
For an answer, Childermass had touched a finger to the red bead of blood welling up on his own chest and daubed some on Segundus's sternum, forehead, and eyelids. "Now you."
Segundus obeyed. "There. Proper savages we must look, too."
"Yes, this spell is not at all respectable."
"Is it done?"
"Almost." Childermass had pulled Segundus against him so that they stood breast to breast, their blood smearing together over their bare skin. "Say it with me now. Cor cordis."
"Cor cordis," Segundus had repeated. Heart's core. Heart of heart. Heart of my heart.
...
That had taken place years ago. Other than a test run to ensure that all was working properly, there had never been cause to activate the spell. A remarkable record, considering the regularity with which John frequents the Roads, mused Segundus, as the fiery thread guided him along. Suddenly it left the main path and bent abruptly to the right, diving into a forbidding-looking passageway. Saying Ormskirk's Spell to Dispel Illusion to steady his nerves, Segundus followed it.
He knew as soon as he entered the dark corridor that an enchantment was trying to grip him. Ormskirk's spell held true, however, and he remained in control of his faculties. Trying to keep calm, he advanced steadily, bracing himself to face God-knew-what at the other end of the thread. Loud, unearthly noises echoed up the passage towards him. It sounded as though not only someone's voice, but a selection of instruments as well, were being tortured into emitting distorted, nightmare shrieks. He moved faster. What are they doing to you, John?
When he emerged from the passageway a moment later, he had a sensation of acute vertigo. His eyes were trying to see two landscapes at once. Through one eye, he saw that he was standing on a flat, grassy space. On this lawn, four satyrs playing panpipes and a wooden drum were engaged in a madcap dance around a depressed-looking man in black (Childermass!). A starlit hillside sloped up and back from the flat area, with hundreds of creatures taking their ease on the turf. Some were humanoid, some were animal, some were gigantic insects (wasn't that the mantis that had spoken to him and Childermass when they were on the way to Messiah a few years back?), a few were multicolored clouds with dozens of eyes, and one was a dilapidated cottage bobbing about on chicken legs. All of them appeared to be enjoying the exhibition very much.
Through his other eye, the hillside was replaced by a massive amphitheatre built in the style of ancient Greece, and its seats were filled with humans dressed in black leather and waving small flames (candles, perhaps?) in the air. The stage (now stone), instead of being occupied by capering satyrs, held gyrating, purple-lit demons wielding tools of auditory punishment. Strangest of all was that, in this reality, Childermass was not looking dolefully at his feet. Instead he swaggered to and fro at the front of the stage, cavorting and flaunting, screaming Back in black in a raucous yell that was utterly unlike his normal deep, Yorkshire-flavored voice.
Segundus closed first one eye and then the other, trying to get them to focus on one rendition of reality, but they persisted in appearing simultaneously.
"He does it well, doesn't he?" said someone at his side, making him jump. A satyr grinned up at him, with the bizarre, black-and-white-faced Singing King of Desperate-times overlapping his wiry frame. Segundus replied in what he hoped was a calm and even tone:
"He does most things well."
"Ha! Very good!" crowed the King, slapping Segundus's back so hard that he staggered. "Though keeping clear of my little entanglements is not one of those things! You, however, seem to have thought of everything, Mr Magician with your red, red scarf and the moon at your eyes."
"That is my hope, sir. And I will apply the spell to my friend as well, should you refuse to release him of your own accord."
"Yes, yes...I assumed somebody would be along to rescue him as soon as I saw your pretty Cor Cordis path come snaking in." The King waved dismissively at the thin, fire-bright line that extended from Segundus to Childermass's dancing feet. "I will make a bargain with you!"
"What manner of bargain?" said Segundus warily, knowing the infinite amount of trouble that came from ill-considered agreements with the people of Other Lands.
"If you will let your friend finish this song, he's free to leave with you."
(Number one with a bullet, I'm a power pack roared Childermass.)
"Oh, is that singing that he's doing?"
"That's right! He's ab-so-lute-ly killing it, too. I knew as soon as I saw the Doorkeeper Hex drag his scruffy arse in here that he'd be the perfect fit for an AC/DC cover."
Segundus understood less than a quarter of this, but feeling that it was best to be on the safe side, he began mentally saying Ormskirk's Spell to Dispell Illusion and Correct Wrong Ideas on Childermass's behalf. Apparently the King realized this, since the expression under his mask of paint grew stormy. He stuck out an incredibly long tongue and made a rude noise.
"You're no fun at all. Fine - take him, and get back to your miserable little quadrille-and-waltz-infested century." He waved a hand and the music stopt. Childermass (both versions of him) collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Segundus rushed over to him, paying no heed to the cries of boo and spoilsport that rang out from the audience.
"John! John, it's me! Are you all right? Say something!" He knelt beside Childermass and touched his arm. The instant he did so, the thread of light was gone.
"Uhhh," said Childermass, rubbing his face with both hands. He looked blearily about, stopping when he noticed Segundus bending anxiously over him. "John! You came! Oh thank God. Forgive me, I was foolish - "
"Yes, you bloody well were!" said Segundus, his emotions making his vocabulary slip briefly into vulgarity. "After all our discussions about caution, to let yourself get caught like this - "
Childermass cut his remonstrations short by pulling him down for a kiss. "It won't happen again," he said.
"See that it does not," said Segundus, returning the salute. Then, suddenly sensible of the fact that he and another man had just kissed (twice) in front of an untold number of spectators, he added "Oh dear."
Happily, no one seemed displeased. The audience did not seem to care what sort of show they were watching, so long as there was one. Many cheered or shouted encouraging remarks, and some were throwing flowers onto the stage. When a set of ladies' undergarments flew past Segundus's head, he decided it was time to go.
"Thank you, one and all," he said, getting up and helping Childermass to his feet as well. "We are delighted to have provided you with some entertainment, but we must leave you now. Farewell!" Hooking an arm around Childermass, who was still rather dazed, he started edging backwards towards the passageway.
"Let's give them a song for the Roads, boys!" called the King, turning to his group of musicians. "This little number is dedicated to you, Cor Cordis humans, in honor of your great good fortune in finding the right magic to get you out of here. Worse luck next time!" And he started singing - actually singing this time, not caterwauling - in a rough baritone that was almost pleasant, if a little uncouth:
I keep a close watch on this heart of mine
I keep my eyes wide open all the time
I keep the ends out for the tie that binds
Because you're mine, I walk the line...
...
"What happened, John?" said Childermass, moving more easily once they were back on the main Roads. "Lord, my throat hurts. And I am so tired."
"Unless I'm much mistaken, that's what got you into this mess in the first place," said Segundus, unable to resist a bit more scolding now that they were out of more-than-usual danger.
"Ah, stop it. I know it was stupid of me. I just wanted to see you so badly."
"And now you can see me. Come, let's go home."
"I'm already home," said Childermass. "You're here, aren't you?"
"Stop trying to soften me up. I'm still angry at you. What if something had gone wrong? One or both of us could have been stuck in that place forever!"
"But we aren't. Thanks to you." They walked on for a while. "Thank you for coming after me. You were very brave. Nice touch with the muffler, by the way."
"What? Oh, thank you," said Segundus, with an embarrassed laugh. "I didn't have any other red things in my room, and I was in a hurry."
"Maybe it should be standard issue for walking the Roads."
"I'll drop a hint to Mrs Pleasance - she'll make you one. Ah, here's the door to the Mirror Room!"
Childermass moved to pass through it, then noticed that Segundus was not following him. "Aren't you coming?"
"No, I need to get back to my bedroom. I am meant to be lying down, as I was overcome with discomfort halfway through a lesson on Sympathetic Magic."
"All right. I'll see you soon, then. Mind you don't get lost."
Segundus smiled. "Not to worry. I happen to know a spell that will guide you to me."
"True, heart of my heart," said Childermass.
...
Additional Author's Notes:
I borrowed Ormskirk's spell from JS-&-MN-the-book.
The Singing King of Desperate-times and his crew are dressed like the band Kiss. They were playing AC/DC's "Hell's Bells" (which does begin with a bell tolling) and "Back in Black." Johnny Cash is responsible for "I Walk the Line" but I'm responsible for making it Segundus's theme song.