~Village of Stone~
~Dark Wings~
Decided to finally join in with writing the fanfiction as well as reading it. First fic, so I hope you enjoy. :) Much gratitude to my fantabulous beta Owlkin. This wouldn't be nearly as good without her help.
Anything you recognise belongs to KB, 'cos I'm not her.
The vaults where the long and not-so-long dead resided were generally silent. The only noise one could hear would be the faint hiss and crackle of the torches that lined the passageways at regular intervals. This time however, the silence was broken by the shuffling and stamping of feet treading worn stone corridors, and the muttering of the man in the front, grey of hair and robe. An older man with a peculiarly unlined face, he carried a bright lamp as he led the dozen caretakers toward their destination. The path they tread was well-worn, and would have shown up little dust, even if the corridors were not regularly swept.
There had been much activity in the catacombs as of late. With the king's betrothal, and the more recent marriage, Agemon had been eager to begin the carving of the queen's coffin. She was a stunning woman, and it would be an honour to immortalise her visage within his domain. While there were, naturally, many caretakers capable of skilfully working stone, Agemon felt it was his duty to put the finishing touches on the statues and sarcophagi. It was not for nothing that he was the one chosen to lead them.
Agemon had been the previous Head caretaker's personal prentice, and had helped him carve the tombstone for the revered Queen Isen. She had visited many times to observe the progress herself, as well as to freshen her image in the minds of the carvers. A stately woman, she had spoken gently to those caretakers she met, respecting the ancient silence of the tombs. He had grieved more than most when news of her passing reached him. Having been chosen to help carve her likeness, she had spoken often to him. Even the other caretakers, always reclusive, had been impressed with the attention he garnered. He had quickly outstripped the skill of his master, better known for his management skills and approachable disposition, and was the natural replacement when the old man went to meet those he had spent his life serving.
Agemon became known for his dedication to the dead, and his zealous honouring of past heroes and monarchs. Many years of service left him well-respected for his wisdom amongst the Villagers. And so it fell to him to investigate any intruders and pass judgement on them. This time he was to investigate someone who was trapped in the queen's tomb, and may well be dead anyway.
While normally such a visit to the queen's tomb would only involve one or two artisans, Agemon had felt it necessary to bring more. This time he was not carving the stone, but moving it.
He turned down a passageway whose stone carvings were much more ornate, and in some cases newer, than the others. He walked down the rows, scarcely glancing at the tombs to either side as he strode forward, determined to recover the intruder.
Agemon had been helping one of the younger stonemasons refine his craft; he felt that working on the royal carvings helped focus the younglings, and gave them a sense of pride. He had retired to sleep, as had the prentice, ready to return in the morning. Her figure had only just begun to emerge from the pale stone.
When he returned after an appropriate amount of rest, for he had no way of determining night from day, he was astonished by the sight that greeted him. While the apprentice did not seem to notice anything, Agemon himself trembled at the dark wings enfolding that particular tomb.
Westrion.
The Birdman, God of Death. The wings trembled faintly as the boy walked through them, and Agemon barely restrained himself from calling out in warning. He must have made some noise, however, because the boy turned around, a question in his eyes. Agemon stared at the unaffected boy, whose legs were wrapped in inky feathers, then slowly crept forward until he could reach out a tentative hand, which passed through the wings as if they were not there.
"What is it, Uncle?"
"Please step back, child. I feel an… aura around this tomb."
The boy swallowed audibly and stepped back, a gleam in his eye as he watched the old man's outstretched hand. Agemon stood up and peered over the top of the tomb, where the tips of each wing overlapped slightly, as if cocooning something. A familiar tingle ran up Agemon's spine, and he knew that there was someone inside, and still alive. But how? How did they get there? He considered his options, barely noticing the prentice who stared avidly from behind. Whoever was in there was guarded by Westrion, but even He could not replenish the air indefinitely. He would rescue them and either take them in as a Villager or turn them over to the Black Shields, if they were like the vandals who had broken in a few months prior. Deciding, Agemon turned on his heels and walked, quickly and lightly, back the way he had come, the prentice dogging his heels and carrying the bag of chisels and assorted tools. He would need to act swiftly, as there was no knowing how long the person had already been there.
"Ander." The prentice snapped to attention as they reached the outskirts of the Village, "Fetch a dozen of the strongest men, and one of our healers, please. A stretcher, too. Tell them someone is stuck beneath heavy stone and needs to be rescued." The boy nodded in acquiescence and trotted off to get the men.
Ten minutes later, they were all assembled and ready to begin their recovery of the trapped victim.
The men surrounded the tomb, their expressions focused as gripped the stone in unison to shift it away. Again Agemon wondered. Who would go to the trouble of locking a person up in the queen's tomb, and do so quietly enough not to alert anyone? Why? The heavy noise of stone on stone increased as the men lifted the lid off far enough to see inside. Agemon stepped forward, the men obediently shuffling to the side. He leant over the dark wings, which paled in the lamplight. Peering down, he heard a groan of pain from the figure inside. Yes, he was lucky to have brought the healer.
The Villagers leaned forward in synchronised motion trying to peer over Agemon's shoulder. Ander laughed nervously, but looked as well. Lifting the lamp higher, Agemon caught a glimpse of blood and brown hair, before recognition flashed.
Of course it's her, he thought, sticking her nose where only Black Shields could safely go. There was still the question of how, but that was for later. Agemon gestured to the Villagers, who resumed removing the lid. A few minutes later, it was resting in its half-carved state on the top of an adjacent tomb, and Agemon and the healer had lifted the troublesome girl out and onto a canvas stretcher, where she lay looking far too pale and with far too much blood outside of her.
Letting the men recover their strength, Agemon leaned over the girl's unmoving form and she squinted her eyes with a murmur of, "Who…?"
"You have no Black Shield friends now, Rider girl. You must stay down here this time. It is the law." She sighed and closed her eyes again, and Agemon was unsure if his words had registered. The men, after a brief rest, heaved the stone lid back onto the sarcophagus, directed by Agemon's careful eye.
When it was in just the right position, he straightened up and beckoned two of the men, blond-haired brothers, who picked up either end of the stretcher. With a whisper of movement, the group was ready to set off. Ander walked beside Agemon, in front of the stretcher, and peppered him with questions.
"Who is she? What happened to her? She looked awfully bad, do you think she'll live? How did you know she was in there?" Agemon closed his eyes and silently asked Ander to stay silent. The dead should not be disturbed so. That he could only answer the last question was beside the point.
"Enough time with the spirits of the dead will let you know when there's a spirit nearby, living or otherwise." Truthfully, he did not know why he could tell, but no-one spent as much time caring for the dead as he, so it was as good a guess as any, and would encourage the lad in his duty. The boy fell silent, contemplating that answer, and the crackle of torches and shuffle-stamp of feet kept the silence from wrapping around them completely. Every now and then the Rider girl, Karigan, would shift and murmur in distress as the stretcher swayed with movement. Most of the blood had stopped flowing, but a few wounds, which still held silver shards of glass, began to sluggishly bleed again. They reached the Village without meeting any Black Shields, to Agemon's relief. They would have taken the intruder back up to the sunlight with their excuses.
A small gathering of men, women and children awaited their return, and many gasped in horror when they saw the bloodied figure.
"Send her to the healing room." The healer, Brandin, commanded in his soft voice. The men carried her through, black wings now trailing limply. Brandin's wife and their two young children following with bandages, poultices, needle and thread, as well as assorted liquids to keep the wounds clean. Brandin lowered his voice as he turned to Agemon, so that even Ander, pretending not to listen nearby, could not hear. "She may not survive, even with the death surgeons' help. She has lost much blood."
Agemon nodded in understanding. They all knew the Birdman took who he wanted. The death surgeons were skilled with closing wounds, but even they could not undo that most final of all injuries. It would be a shame, but that one had been half in Westrion's arms even when he first met her.
The caretakers and their families slowly dispersed when they realised the injured woman would not provide any more of a show. Only Ander remained with Agemon, still holding the bag of carving tools. "Uncle…?"
Agemon smiled benignly at the lad. His sister's grandson was promising, and had the strong, steady hands necessary for the fine stonework used on the tomb carvings.
"We will return to the tomb. Perhaps I will let you work on the fine details, if you show the skill."
"Thank you, Uncle!" The boy beamed with the glow of youth, and Agemon knew that this statue would be the most well-crafted of all he had worked on. If the Rider girl survived, she might be able to help, even. Using the sword strengthened the hands similar to stonecarving. Or maybe she could teach the youngsters to hide the Village from the Black Shields. She was good at hiding, last time she had visited the tombs.
He would track down one of the Black Shields and mention her, of course, as protocol demanded. But maybe he would wait a bit, until the girl was more integrated into the Village and less likely to try and escape. She had shown her black-banded sword before, but she still wore the green then and now, and her sword was not one of the Shields' make. She was a Rider trespassing, and would be a Rider staying. The King could not argue this time. She was saving no-one's life or kingdom, but in fact was bleeding all over the antique carpeting. Again. With the shadow of death hovering over her, she was practically fated to live down in his own little kingdom. The dead belonged with the dead, and her spirit gleamed with the gray that only the dead had. It was agreeable sort of justice that rang true in the caretaker's opinion.
Agemon rested a hand on Ander's shoulder for a moment, and then turned back the way he had come, the boy following faithfully in his wake. He had made his decision and his plans were in place. She belonged to the dead, now. He ignored the niggling, guilty thought that the Black Shields had claimed her as one of their own, to freely move through the tombs as one who returned above, and that he had thought up an excess of reasons for her staying.
So what did y'all think? Interesting? Boring? Don't care? Let me know. I'll be posting a chapter every Saturday/Sunday, all for your enjoyment. You should feel priveliged. XD I've been working on this instead of doing my assignments like I should.