Title: Seed of Darkness
Rating: T
Summary: A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies. Fallon/Isabelle, Fumm/OC
Disclaimer: Do not own, though I still have hopes someday Santa will bring me my very own giant.
Chapter One: Promises
Jack had never once dreamed he'd be where he was now. The throne room of King Brahmwell was every bit as magnificent as he'd always imagined it. Thick red carpets inlaid with threads of shining gold covered the floors. Any place not covered by carpet was polished oak wood, reflecting the flickering lights of hundreds of beeswax candles placed in carefully-hidden sconces, their sweet aroma spread thick upon the air. His left knee felt as though it was about to give out from kneeling, but he didn't care. For being in this place, at this time, seemed so unreal that he feared the tiniest movement might wake him up and he'd be back in his crumbling old hut with his constantly-disapproving Uncle yelling at him to: "Get your fool head out of the clouds and get to work!"
"Arise, Jack, before you hurt yourself." King Brahmwell's eyes crinkled with amusement as Jack got to his feet. "As my future son-in-law you need not be overly concerned with formalities." Jack hurriedly unbent himself and stood up, still keeping his chin lowered slightly out of respect. The king was actually a little shorter than the farmboy,, a fact that made Jack feel as though he'd unintentionally committed a crime. Swathed in the traditional gold and white robes of royalty, his red cape trailing behind him, King Brahmwell carried himself with dignity despite his plump belly and age-lines creasing his face like layers of slate in a quarry.
Stern, but with a kind heart, Jack thought. Exactly like my Dad used to be.
"How goes life about the town?" Brahmwell started to walk toward an oaken door leading to an adjoining hallway. A pair of liveried guards opened the door to let him pass as Jack walked beside him, making sure to always stay one or two paces behind, "Are my people well?"
Jack plucked at a loose thread on his tunic. "Well enough, I suppose. Many homes were destroyed when the giants attacked. Their hard lives just turned harder. And then we've got wives who lost husbands and children who lost fathers." He sighed. Seeing orphans in the streets begging for scraps always tugged at the old ache in his heart where he kept golden memories of a father and childhood long past.
Tell the story again, Dad. The one about the giants.
"And your Uncle?" Brahmwell asked.
"He still hasn't forgiven me."
Brahmwell stopped mid-stride and turned to face him, one eyebrow raised. "Even though you bought him a new house and land?"
Jack's reply was a tired smile expressing both amusement and weariness. "Even so. He's not the forgiving type. Says he won't take me back and risk any more of my stupid mistakes."
"Your 'stupid mistakes' saved my kingdom as well as my daughter's life. Whatever wrongs you've committed in the past, Jack, I wholehearted absolve you." Brahmwell turned away, and so missed seeing the wide grin that spread like sunrise over the boy's face, lighting him up and making him look younger, gawkier, and handsomer than ever.
Brahmwell continued walking, taking a long, circuitous route that managed to avoid passages and chambers which had sustained minor damage during the giants' siege. Most of the castle had come through relatively intact, with the outer keep taking the brunt of the onslaught. The catacombs had fared the worst. White stone pillars lay strewn about like broken teeth and several places in the walls and ceiling were gouged by boulder-sized impact craters. The marble floor once decorated with the seal of Cloister's kings now yawned like a gateway to the abyss - the result of Fallon breaking into the castle - and so Brahmwell had declared the tunnels forever unsafe and ordered them sealed permanently.
Just as well, Jack thought somberly. I doubt Isabelle will ever want to venture down there again.
Tiny pinpricks of cold fire lifted the hair on the nape of his neck when he thought of how close it'd been. If I hadn't saved that last bean, she and I would both be dead.
He was so preoccupied with this dark thought that he almost thumped into the king's back, for the older man had finally stopped. Looking up, he saw they were in a long hallway carpeted in lush red ermine. On the walls, marching in a straight line broken only by wrought-iron brackets bearing lit torches, hung portraits of men and women held in quiet dignity behind ornate frames of gold and silver. Wide-eyed, Jack's gaze roamed hungrily among the different faces. One gray-haired man appeared to be in his late fifties when his portrait was made and Jack got the impression from his hawknose and thin-lipped, straight mouth that this was a man who'd never smiled in his entire life. A woman with her delicate-fingered hand cupping her chin seemed to wink at him, her dark hair fanning out around her shoulders in tantalizing curls while her full lips curved in a smile. Jack noticed King Brahmwell's eyes were also latched onto the woman's portrait, and realized with an audible gasp that the lovely woman in the fetching pose looked just like Isabelle.
"Isabelle's mother." Brahmwell nodded at the painting. "Gwendolyn was the light of my life, and her soul lives still in her daughter." He stared at the portrait for a long time. Jack shuffled beside him, uncertain of what to say. The heat from the torches raised a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was about to wipe it off on the back of one sleeve, but caught himself. You're in the presence of royalty! The thought hit him like a whip, and sounded unpleasantly like his Uncle. Show a little class for once!
Finally, the king turned to face Jack, found the boy's downcast eyes, and locked them in a steady, unblinking gaze. Jack's stomach knotted. It was like the king was searching his soul, weighing his heart, and testing his courage all with a single piercing look. "Jack, do you know why I ordered the beanstalk cut down?"
Jack's spine straightened. He'd never raised this subject with the king and Brahmwell had never volunteered any information; they'd left it alone, in a sealed iron casket full of Things-Best-Not-Talked-About. Until now.
"I-I imagine you did it to protect the kingdom, Your Highness. To keep the giants from coming down and all."
Brahmwell nodded. Age showed in the worry lines around his eyes, in the sprinkling of gray among his dark curls. "I did. Because a king is not only a father to his children, Jack, but to every man, woman, and babe who dwell within his land.. He must be prepared to risk anything, sacrifice anything to keep them safe. I love Isabelle beyond words, but I couldn't risk dooming us all. Not even for her."
"You will inherit the kingdom when I am gone. Swear to me that whatever Fate hands you, you will always protect my people. No matter the cost to yourself."
Jack dropped to his knees without being asked. He felt there was no other way to deliver such a vow.
"I swear, Your Majesty. On my soul, life, and honor, I swear."
"Your Majesty!" A crisply accented voice cut through the solemnity of the moment. Sound of approaching bootheels, and Jack saw from his vantage point near the floor the tall, razor-straight visage of his friend Elmont. The knight was clad in the standard Guardians' uniform of studded leather armor, matching black leather breeches, and a wickedly sharp rapier was secured in a sheath at his belt. He executed a precision-perfect bow to the king, then, upon straightening, nodded his head at Jack. "Hello down there, Jack. I see your knees are working properly. Well done."
"Elmont." The king quickly took in the scowl on his Captain's face. "I know that look. What has happened?"
"We have a problem." Elmont drew something from a pouch on his belt, and Jack smelled rich soil mixed with healthy green leaves. "It seems, before we cut them down, those overgrown weeds managed to spread themselves around a bit."
Jack had to crane his neck to see, as he hadn't yet received permission to rise from his kneeling position, but he still managed to get a look at the thing in Elmont's hand, and groaned.
A green, curling vine bearing ripe seed pods, one of which was cracked open, revealing six wrinkled, glossy black beans.
Brahmwell's eyes flashed from the beans to Elmont. Their gazes locked.
"Is that what I suspect it is, Elmont?" Brahmwell asked.
Elmont nodded, clenching his jaw in a grim line. "We found this little fellow growing on the edge of the Greenwood. Showed it to the monks and they confirmed it's the same type of plant Roderick filched from King Erik's tomb. The beans it produces are active with dark magic."
"They're growing wild now?"
"Apparently so."
"They'll have to be destroyed." The king sounded weary, and Jack didn't blame him. Those blasted beans nearly destroyed the kingdom, and if they were growing unchecked out in the forests now...Not good.
Apparently, Brahmwell was thinking the same thing. "If anyone finds the beans..."
Elmont sighed, letting his shoulders droop slightly. "Yes, if it were possible to search under every stone, root, and leaf in every forest throughout all of Albion." He stuffed the plant back in its pouch, reattached it to his belt with a few quick movements. "I suppose if any of the beans sprout, we'll know about it."
"So will the giants!" said Jack, all thoughts of propriety momentarily forgotten, along with his stiff back and aching knees.
'They can't cause trouble so long as we have the Crown." Elmont's right hand grasped the hilt of his rapier, stroked the leather gently.
Brahmwell glanced down at Jack, frowning. "Jack, I think it's past time for you to get up. Your oath is accepted." The farmboy obeyed, sending a sheepish smile in Elmont's direction while brushing dust off his breeches.
"Where is Isabelle? We shall discuss this matter over dinner." The king noted Elmont's blank look and sighed. "God save us if she's run off again."
"I think I can guess where she is," said Jack.
"Then go fetch her. I feel I'm in need of a nice mug of ale." The king rubbed at his temples. "Strong ale."
Jack darted down the hallway, retracing the way they'd come. He went gratefully, for the weight of the promise he'd made was starting to sink in, sending his stomach into queasy little flips. And though his quick strides and straight spine said otherwise , he couldn't shrug off the uneasy prickly feeling that the knowing eyes of Isabelle's mother's portrait tracked his every move until he turned down a narrow side passage, a pretty, painted memory of a dead woman on display.
{O}
Isabelle sank down into the goose-feather soft cushions of her favorite chair and opened the thick book upon her lap, turned the brittle, ink-stained pages carefully. Ever since the chaos of last spring when old legends became real and her life changed forever, the castle library went from being an old tower filled with curious tomes and relics to her only true sanctuary. Especially in the evening, when waning autumn sunlight fell in mellow god stripes through the library's high, arched windows. Soon it would be too cold to spend much time here without lighting a fire, and that would be too much to risk among the shelves and stacks of crinkling paper. But for now, the library was a refuge when she needed peace from the endless troop of flowery courtiers, smiling dignitaries, and gossiping servants that bounded throughout the castle like extravagant circus performers getting ready for a show.
The picture, traced in berry-red ink within the pages of the book she held, was of a creature too grotesque for words. A skinless thing with the body of a horse rearing on its hind legs, with a man's torso growing seamlessly from its back, his misshapen head bobbing on its too-thin neck like wheat on a stalk. The artist had used subtle shades of red in defining the creature's exposed muscles, making them appear to pulsate wetly. A stream flowed in front of it, blocking it from reaching the disheveled farmer standing on the other side, his fist raised in defiance.
She read the description of the beast, its name, strengths and weaknesses, and tried to commit as much of it as she could to memory. Folklore and legends, which had fascinated her for most of her life, were becoming an obsession to her now. She absorbed every bit of information she could glean about the fairy realm, the unproven existence of unicorns, even the explicit account of a woman who claimed to have been overly-familiar with a visiting nocturnal demon. She'd put that particular book away unfinished, else Father might mistake the constant blush in her cheeks for fever spots.
Jack had only asked her about this new passion of hers one time, and she'd explained it to him as clearly as she could.
I want to be ready when the next legend turns out to be real.
She was about to put the book down when she heard a familiar light step behind her, then a pair of calloused farmboy hands descended upon her shoulders and began massaging them gently.
'And what is this new monstrosity you've discovered?"
Smiling, she leaned back into her chair and gazed up into the eyes of her fiance, catching the playful gleam in them and sending it back through her own mischievous smile. Indeed, those soulful eyes were one of the first qualities that had drawn her to him.
"It's called a knoggelvi."
"A what?!"
She laughed. "It's one of the fairy spirits, and a hideous one at that."
"I'll say." Jack came around to face her, and she felt her stomach give a pleasant little flutter. He stood with his hands clasped before him, his tunic, coat, and breeches so drab and unpretentious he stood out like a plain mouse among Father's court of gaily dressed squirrels. Father had even offered to dress him in the latest royal fashion - consisting of ridiculous looking wigs, boots big enough for draft horses to comfortably slip into, and belts buckled tight enough to sever a man's torso - but he'd politely refused, feeling more at ease in his peasant clothes. It only made her love him more.
He leaned over to get a closer look at the drawing. Isabelle could feel his breath tickling her forehead. "And how do you kill one?"
"You can't kill it. You have to ford a stream or creek. Get running water between you and it, and it can't cross after you." She shut the book gently, laid it on the stack next to her, which teetered precariously. "I hope knoggelvi don't turn out to be real, too. Imagine facing one of them!'
"If all you have to do to escape it is cross running water, I'd take it over a rampaging giant any day."
Laughing, she glided up out of the chair and threw her arms around him. Her dress rustled slightly as he returned the favor, closing her in his strong embrace. His shoulder made a comfortable resting place for her head as she breathed him in, smelling fresh hay, woodsmoke, and falling autumn leaves.
" I had another nightmare last night," she whispered into the rough fabric of his coat.
"About that two-headed freak?" Gentle touch of his fingers in her hair. Without leaving the safety of his shoulder, her answer came out muffled, "Yes."
"He can't come back."
"But what if he does?" Her face felt hot from shame, for she sounded like a five-year old girl jumping at shadows. But this five-year old just found out that those shadows have teeth...and they really do want to eat the last of Erik's kin.
"If he comes back, we'll deal with him." Jack's lips pressed against her forehead, and she exhaled in a long, deep sigh against him. He felt so solid, so reliable. Around them, thin spears of diminishing sunlight played among the shelves, sparking off bits of dust swirling through the air like glitter from a pixie's wings. "I won't let him hurt you." He gently removed her left hand from his shoulder, brought it to his lips, and kissed the sparkling engagement ring on her second finger. A blue sapphire nestled inside a cluster of diamonds. Not as beautiful as the one who wore it, in his opinion, but close. "I promise."
A throat cleared behind them.
"I'm afraid you'll have to cut your little tryst short." Both of them jumped, disengaging from each others arms to find Elmont standing with his arms folded across his chest, his lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappeared. His brown hair looked ruffled, which meant he'd come to them in a blazing hurry. "Something's come up."
It never failed to amaze Isabelle how the Captain of the King's Guardians could move about so silently. She hadn't even heard the telltale click of bootheels on stone. Then again, she had been a bit preoccupied with other things at the time. 'What's happened?"
"Jack's Uncle is here," Elmont said, frowning. "And he claims to have a story to tell."
