Chapter III
The Tale of Five Phoenixes
There had been no signs, no terrible omens or solemn warnings to ready anyone, except a barbaric slave-trader travelling south to Forte Blacke, thirty slaves in tow.
And six years had passed since that fateful night – the event was now all but forgotten by the people of Caruselle now. Except the royal family remembered – they remembered all too well, and were given the same painful reminder every full moon.
Jack had a rough night, last night. The servants had taken to wrapping his hands in silk sheets, to stop him from savagely scratching at his chest. It was that fact alone that meant when Jack rolled a bit too far to the left, he couldn't even grab his sheets to pull himself to safety.
As such, Prince Jack - heir of the Kingdom Caruselle, home of the Blue Phoenix and Gate to the North - began his eighteenth birthday as a graceless, tangled heap on the floor.
"Ow."
When Molly bustled in fifteen minutes later, Jack was still sitting on the floor by his bed, the sheets a crumpled mess around him. She rolled her eyes. "How did you manage that, then?"
Jack scowled. "I fell out of bed, obviously."
"And didn't bother getting up?"
Jack shrugged noncommittally. The aftermath of last night was still echoing through him, like needling shards of glass being slowly tugged out of his chest by equally needling tweezers. It was painful, yet relieving. And weirdly it sort of left him feeling hollow. Molly flicked one of her long red curls, now streaked with snowy grey, behind her ear and moved to pull the Prince to his feet. "Bad night, huh?" she murmured sadly. Jack nodded.
The pain didn't follow Jack to the realm of sleep, instead he was haunted by dreams – beautiful, bittersweet dreams of a young boy, standing next to a large lake, a forest surrounding them and great hulking mountains looming in the distance. The moon was reflected in the lake's water, like a mirror. It lit upon the young boy at all angles, who stood at the water's edge with the spyglass at his eye, staring into the distance.
Jack would move, the sound traveling, and the boy would turn, lowering the spyglass and looking at Jack with those green eyes – eyes that had haunted Jack for years. He never spoke – Jack wondered if it was because he could no longer remember the boy's voice - but he always smiled. And his smile was always so sad and wistful, like a forlorn apology.
When he woke, Jack always wondered what the boy looked like now. In his dreams, he looked the same as he did that hazy, jubilant morning six years ago – a too long tunic that reached his thighs, scruffy brown breeches that would have better fitted a child, and worn boots made of reddish oxen leather. And, of course, the menial silver compass that Jack had given him swung from the boy's neck, like a medallion.
Jack wondered if the boy kept the compass. His own eyes flitted to the spyglass that sat on his own writing desk. Jack wasn't sure why he associated the spyglass with the Boy from The North (as everyone in the palace referred to him as), but he had treasured it regardless. Over time, Jack had asked his father to help when the spyglass broke or lens shattered, only for the silver scope to improve with every visit.
The silver casing was now somewhat ornate; King Nicolas had soldered entwining images of hemleaf vines and thorbury flowers onto the spyglass' extendable sides, claiming them to be wildflowers of the north. He'd even engraved the circlet that held the lens in place; circling words that Nicolas had told Jack was a Northerner language called Mûnthan. Jack only knew a little Nathern – his father's mother tongue – so the spinning words made no sense to him:
Mata sel a'ra sora d'firé,
Vesno Mata vuw'ar met.
Vesa met, lura, selana met -
Metta mat firé, sel'a vesa couyr.
…Nope. Not a clue. Though the way it flowed rhythmically as his father read it, Jack had the feeling it was a Mûnthan poem. His father refused to tell him what it said. When Jack asked, Nicolas would merely reply "He'll tell you one day."
Very helpful, Dad.
Jack let Molly help him get to his feet, wincing as the fabric of his clothes brushed against his sensitive skin. He usually spent the day after the full moon sore for most of the morning. The pain would be gone by two.
Molly pulled from the cavernous wardrobe in the Prince's room the clothes that had been specially prepared for the day – he was to dress primarily in blue, as a sign of respect to the blue phoenix. The under-tunic was a deep blue that had sleeves with small rings on the point of their cuffs, made to loop around Jack's middle finger and cover the back of Jack's hand. Over that was the sky blue, short-sleeved tunic with embroidered sleeves and belt. Next to all this finery, his plain, doeskin breeches and boots seemed very plain, but Jack was comfortable. Anymore silvery stitching, and he'd feel ridiculous… spoke too soon.
Jack's face fell as Molly pulled out a dark blue cloak – a simple design with a hood, with silver embroidery on the hem. Jack moaned, but Molly gave him a firm look. "You get away with not looking princely for 364 days of the year. One day of finery won't kill you!"
"Isn't it enough I'm wearing shoes?" Jack whined, pointing at the boots on his feet. "By the way, these pinch."
"They'll stretch." Molly replied sweetly, pulling the cloak around Jack's shoulders and pinning it in place with a jewelled fastening, shaped like a feather and faceted with thirteen small sapphires. Jack glared at it with disdain, before giving Molly a look of loathing.
Molly raised her hands. "Don't shoot the messenger! It was your forefathers that decided the 18th birthday of every future Carusellen King was to be spent looking like an oversized peacock." Jack's face darkened to murderous. "Don't pout Jack, it doesn't suit you." She chided.
"I have to go out in public like this?" he growled. Molly grinned and gave him a wink.
"I'm sure the girls will love it."
Jack rolled his eyes. "As I was firmly reminded last night, I'm taken. Though when the guy will actually show up is another matter entirely."
Molly gave him a sympathetic look, before shrugged and saying softly "Today could be your lucky day. You never know."
Jack gave her a small, wry smile in return. "Nice try, Molly. But you and I know it's more likely the Blue Phoenix will come back from the dead and profess its undying love for the Moon Dragon."
Molly snorted. "How melodramatic. Come along, your parents are waiting in the banquet hall. You have a busy day, what with the Fete and all."
Jack moaned as the old, motherly servant all but dragged him from his room. The Fete! How in the name of Fares had he forgotten about that? The kingdom had spent the best part of the last two weeks decking the streets with bunting and banners. Traders and travelling entertainers had been turning up even before that, setting up camp with their colourful tents that lined the streets of Caruselle.
Jack had, of course, be caught trying to sneak out to see these entertainers a number of times, but it wasn't what the guards thought – Jack wasn't trying to ruin his 'birthday surprise', his reasons were more practical than that. These people were travellers. Which meant some of them may be from the North. Which meant there was a slim chance that one of them might know the boy from the north…
Jack hadn't had much luck with that theory. The few times he actually did manage to sneak out, he met only a few people from the north, and most of them were woodland folk from BenHul Forests. There were a couple that came from the southern-most side of the Archipelago Mountains, but they were far and few between, and barely spoke any common-tongue. It was hopeless.
The thought alone made Jack want to curl up with despair. Instead, he was being dragged by the wrist to the banquet hall, where the familiar figures of his parents stood side by side waiting for him. The Queen Thiana had lost little to none of her beauty in the passing years – the only tell-tale signs of time passing on her were the laugh-lines at the corners of her eyes, and the white hair that was barely noticeable mixed with the blonde.
Next to her, his father was far more changed with time. His hair had gone from salt-and-pepper, to pure white. His eyes still practically screamed his youthful spirit, but there was an underlying sadness in them that only Jack could understand.
The King hated the full moon nights almost more than Jack did. Almost.
"How did you sleep, son?" he asked softly. Jack shrugged again.
"Barely." He replied truthfully. He'd had an argument with his father a couple years ago, when he was hiding how bad the full moon affected him. Since then, he told his parents the whole truth. That, and he had his hands wrapped in silk before bed.
His mother merely reached over and hugged him. "We wanted to speak to you about that, before we head out for the festivities." She pulled back, just in time to see Jack arching a brow at her.
His father chuckled. "You are a man now, Jack. You need to take control of your own life – including your love life."
Jack blinked once. Twice. "You mean?"
The Queen nodded, grinning. "We've spoken with Captain Aster – he and four of his men will accompany you to the North, on a quest to find the Boy from the North."
Jack stared at her, before practically bounding back into her arms, grabbing both of his parents and hugging them fiercely. "Thank you!" he crowed, grinning brightly. "Thank you thank you thank you thank you a thousand times, thank you!"
"Promise me you will be careful, Jack?" the Queen asked, prying herself away from her son's death grip. He nodded rapidly, then frowned.
"How will I find him? The North… it's huge…"
The King and Queen shared a significant look, before the King turned back to Jack. "You still have that old spyglass, don't you Jack? The one Johann gave you?"
Jack nodded, still confused.
"Can you remember why Johann gave it to you?"
Jack shrugged. "It was a birthday gift. He said it was made by hands as royal as my own. But how does that help me?"
The Queen bit her lip, then said "We asked Johann further about the spyglass, and he told us he could help you on your quest." She held out a small leather pouch to Jack, who took it, still feeling a bit bewildered. "He found an enchantress on the Dunbroche Isles. This powder will lead you to the maker of whatever item you sprinkle it on."
Again, Jack frowned. "How does finding some Northern Royalty help me?"
The King looked Jack dead in the eye, a smile quirked on his lips. "The reason why your Amaro couldn't remain here, Jack, is because he has his own throne to inherit."
Jack looked at his mother and father in turn, his mouth falling open unintentionally. The spyglass – this whole time – and all those years ago, the boy had been staring at Jack's hands. The hands holding the spyglass. The spyglass the boy had made. And then told Jack to keep. As if he knew – did he know? Did he knowingly leave Jack to suffer like this? Was Jack abandoned?
When did Jack stop breathing?
"Jack! Jack, calm down – you aren't thinking sensibly!"
"But!" Jack gasped. "But he left that spyglass on purpose! He was saying goodbye!"
The King and Queen stared at their son in horror as the boy became redder and redder in the face, his breath coming shorter and shorter and his frame starting to shake. Then, Nicolas did the only thing he could think of. He slapped Jack, clear around the face. "Get a grip boy! That is not how the Northern Magic works! The Moon Dragon would never forgive it! And she is a cold creature – her fury would be cruel indeed."
Jack stared up at his father, shell shocked. "You slapped me."
"You were being stupid."
"You still hit me."
"You aren't babbling about being abandoned anymore, are you?" Before Jack could answer, Nicolas was already speaking over him, calm and clear. "There are many reasons he could not return for you – for example; The Mûnthan people are of an unforgiving nature. There are many tribes in the mountains, and they are near constantly at war. When one is heir of a Chieftain, you can bet they're a busy person."
Jack considered this, the nodded slowly. Nicolas continued. "He could not leave his people, nor could he drag you into their battles. You are safe here, it's true Jack. But I, as your father, cannot bear to see you hurt any longer. And as I said Jack, you are a man. You must fight your own battles."
Jack raised an eyebrow at this. "Then why wouldn't you let me use a sword?"
To Jack's surprise, Thiana laughed. "You are a terrible swordsman, dear, it cannot be helped. We taught you to use weapons that suit you."
"Like staffs and archery?" Jack asked, his voice dead pan, his face unimpressed.
The Queen shrugged. "Long range suits you."
Jack was about to argue with his mother, when a stout servant strode into the hall, coughing impertinently to get their attention. "If you please, Your Graces, the kingdom awaits."
The Queen gave the man a pleasant smile. "We'll be coming now."
Jack glowered at her. "This isn't over, mother."
"I'm afraid it is dear. Order of the Queen."
Jack groaned, following after his parents in defeat. His mother tended to do that a lot.
-:-
The streets, as expected, were packed full to the brim with colours and shapes – stilted men in bright, contrasting body suits with sweeping bell-bottom leggings that rustled in the breeze. Jugglers with an array of props, from brightly coloured balls, to flaming batons, to daggers as sharp as dragon teeth. Women dressed in long sweeping skirts, dancing together with ribbons and tambourines. Jack grinned as he made his way through the streets, his mother at one side, and his grumpy best friend (and currently bodyguard) Aster at the other.
And then there was his entourage.
Jack didn't know what it was about him, but the children of Caruselle were drawn to him like flies to honey, and above all else? He didn't mind a bit. They surrounded him with bright, excited chatter about how they'd help their parents prepare for the fete – "especially for you, Prince Jack!"
He felt a bit like a shepherd, followed around by the children. One little girl – Jack knew her name to be Rosie – had snuggled between Jack and his mother as she clutched her patchwork teddy bear, shyly taking the Prince's hand, for fear she'd get left in the crowds otherwise. Jack grinned down at her, squeezing her tiny hand in his own.
Aster rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and kids? You get all soppy, mate."
Jack laughed, glancing at his friend from the corner of his eye. "Kids know how to have fun, Aster. Unlike one captain of the guard I could mention."
Aster sniffed. "It's just going to make it harder to get you out of trouble, tripping over toddlers to get to you."
"You worry too much, Aster." Jack chided.
"You don't worry at all." Aster grumbled. The party was stopped by an entertainer, who was animatedly talking with the king and queen, his hands waving about in the air. Thiana turned to her son, grinning. "This man claims to have a new form of theatre, from the North West of Don Valiente – shadow puppetry. Come on, he's telling the story of the Five Phoenixes."
Jack beamed at her whilst the children around him cheered, and then immediately started to quarrel over who would sit next to Jack. Aster rolled his eyes toward the heavens. "Ankle biters."
"Perk up, Bunny." Jack teased, poking Aster in the ribs. "You were young once too. Sure it was a long time ago…" Jack ducked as the guardsman swiped at him. The kids around them giggled as Jack stuck his tongue out at the Captain, before leading them all into a dark tent, where a small stage backlit with candles sat in wait. The party sat around the stage and waited, some of the children pinching and shoving each other in the dark.
Silence fell as suddenly, the flames behind the screen turned a bright purple, sparking wildly until they died down to their usual gold. The children gasped and whispered excitedly. Jack only smiled as Rosie buried her face in his cloak.
"As many of you know" boomed a voice in the dark "Our world was built from fire and ruin, reborn from the ashes in the same way our makers were. And our makers were five sacred phoenixes."
The staged then sprung to life – the candles behind the screen changed to a deep, flickering red, as the shadowed shape of a flaming bird appeared on the screen.
"The first was Hermis, the Passionate One. He re-awoke the volcanic planes, and built fertile lands from the silent seas that covered the earth."
The flames suddenly changed again, turning a fervent yellow. "The next was Charis, the Steady One. She roused the sun from its slumber, hidden by clouds of dust in the skies. She welcomed the warmth back to earth."
In a flash, the yellow turned a bright viridian green, and another image of a phoenix graced the screen. "Then there was Verdis, the Gentle One. She breathed life back into the plains, and crooned to the seeds and sung them to grow. Her sweet music filled the air, as then the plants filled the earth again."
The green light flickered away, suddenly pitching the room into darkness. Rosie whimpered into Jack's chest, to which he petted her curly blonde hair soothingly. Then, like an explosion of colour – bright blue streaks of flame blossomed from behind the screen, silhouetting the image of a particularly wild looking phoenix.
"Next, there was our own patron of the South – Fares, the Protector. He watched the world with careful, all-seeing eyes, eyes that could pierce your very soul. After him was lastly the youngest of these creatures: Laris."
The blue faded, only to be replaced by a brilliant, blinding white. "Laris sought out the bodies of man, and judging the pureness in their hearts, breathed life back into those she deemed worthy. Under their watchful vigil, the world was with a world of new love a light, there would always have to be balance…"
The candles blew out, and Jack peered through the darkness only to see at the last moment, the puppeteer threw what looked like a pinecone into an empty pot that radiated heat. With a gasp, the audience watched as a bright tower of purple flames roared up from the pot, lighting upon the image of a terrible, crow-like creature, with huge talons and razor-like beak.
"The Black Plague stirred from its slumber, reawakened by the presence of new life." The Crow began to move, guided by the puppeteer's nimble hands. The images of the five phoenix reappeared on the screen, and Jack watched with unease as each puppet was unhinged, falling to pieces behind the screen. "One by one, the Plague sought out the Five Phoenixes, and one by one, they succumbed to the dark. Except one…"
The puppets were unhinged, the pieces littered at the bottom of the stage, until only one phoenix remained. Jack eyed the puppeteer's assistants as they sprinkled a strange dust in a small circle around the steaming pot. The dust crackled and sparked a deep blue. Finally, the puppeteer stepped forth and dumped an entire bag of the dust into the pot, and the effect was immediate. Blue flames roared around him as he continued the story.
"Enraged at the death of his kindred, Fares dove to the very heart of the Black Plague – and swallowed it whole. Fares was no longer the pure entity of the phoenix – he'd been tainted by the Plague, and it made him hollow inside."
The flames died down to a steady thrum, like a little heartbeat in the middle of the room. "Wounded and alone, the Phoenix fell to the earth again, hiding in a wall of mountains and waiting to join his brethren. Whilst he waited, he was found by a dweller of the mountains – a young girl with skin as pale as the moon."
A soft white glow filled the room, followed by the silhouette of a girl with long, braided hair. The puppeteer continued, speaking softly. "She tended his wounds and kept him company, soothing the emptiness and saving his sanity. Fares could not help but fall for the girl."
Next, a flurry of movement, and Jack suddenly realised he was watching the passing of time. The girl grew to a young maid, then an older woman, then finally a crone. The puppeteer continued speaking as the images passed hypnotically. "Time flew by, and Fares resolved to protect his girl from all pains. She lived a long and happy life, but mortals don't last forever…"
The white glow died away, leaving only the dim light of the dying blue flames. The image of the old crone also unhinged, and fell to the floor, along with the collection of Phoenix pieces. Jack could hear sniffling in the darkness, and with a jolt, he realised the front of his tunic was wet.
"Don't worry, Rosie." he hushed. "Watch and see!"
The little turned her face to watch the shadow puppets again, just in time to see another bright white flash, and the silhouette shape of a beautiful dragon, its wings stretched in mid-flight.
"Fares would not accept this. He had contributed nothing to new world, but he was determined to contribute this. With the last of his pure power, the blue phoenix gave his beloved life in the form of a dragon as white as the moon. With a finally breath, the Blue Phoenix turned to ashes – choosing to die rather than lose himself to insanity."
The puppeteer paused, his eyes flitting to the lone feather woven into the Queen's hair. "Before he died, Fares gifted the girl's descendants with ten of his feathers, promising one wish granted every generation for the next ten generations. As I speak, the ninth generation of this family thrives as rulers of Caruselle, and the tenth-" the Puppeteer's eyes landed on Jack, and he smiled. Jack gulped. "His journey is yet to begin."
In the silence that followed, you could hear a pin drop.
That is, of course, until the explosion.
The entire tent seemed to tremble with the force of it, the floor quaking beneath them. Above the wails and cries of scared children, Jack could hear Aster shouting at them to get to safety. He saw his father and the captain share a look, before Aster's hand locked around Jack's wrist and he bodily started dragging Jack out of the tent, into the street.
What was once bright sunlight beaming down from above was now a deep, overcast grey – muted light tainted by the foreboding clouds and cutting winds. Aster began to yank Jack onward, pulling him further through the streets, which were now clogged with frightened people, twisting and writhing throngs of townsfolk desperately searching for their loved ones, confused as to what was happening.
The sky darkened further, and what looked like streaks of black smog flew through the air, arching across the sky before pounding into the cobbled streets of Caruselle, sending debris in all directions.
Screams filled the air as the shots of darkness landed in the midst of Caruselle, and Aster didn't allow Jack chance to see why. The Captain yanked Jack's hood over his head, and began running like a bat out of hell toward the palace.
Jack could feel his face tighten with the cries of his people. Caruselle was in danger, and he was running. With a firm tug, he wrenched his arm from Aster's grip.
"What are you doing?!" Aster snarled. "You need to get to safety!"
"I need to help my people!" Jack yelled furiously. "I'm not running – my parents are out there!" It was true; back at the shadow-show tent, which now resembled a mashed mess of splinters and tarpaulin slashed to ribbons, the two royals faced an enemy so ancient, the couple never thought they'd see it in their lifetime.
The King withdrew twin blades from their sheaths, the Queen unsheathing her own weapon of choice – a small brass cylinder than rapidly extended to from a bright spear. From her second sheath she withdrew an ivory dagger. They both glared at the creature before them, but it was the Queen that spoke.
"You were destroyed years ago." She hissed. "Go back to your hellhole."
The only reply she had was distorted, gurgling laughter. The King bared his teeth furiously. "You were warned!"
Meanwhile, Jack fought furiously as Aster dragged him by the hood towards the castle, throwing kicks and punches as he did. Aster hissed, ducking them both behind a set of barrels as one of those creatures lumbered past. He snapped his hand over Jack's mouth, forcing the young prince into silence.
He breathed harshly against the captain's palm, trying to catch his breath, but all too soon Aster was yanking him to his feet again, dashing through the streets of Caruselle towards the towering sandstone Palace before them. But Jack was having none of it, elbowing Aster in the ribs. "Get the hell OFF ME, ASTER."
Aster merely grunted with the impact, moving steadily regardless of the wriggling royal that fought his every step. Finally, Aster snapped. "That's ENOUGH, JACK!" He roared, grabbing Jack's shoulders and shaking them. "Do you understand what's happening here?! The kingdom is being attacked. And you, Jack, you are the Future King. They kill you, they kill this Kingdom's future. But if you get to safety, you can get help and come back stronger."
"And where the hell do I get help, Aster? DunBroche Isles? Corona Bay? Our allies are months away, even on horseback! By the time they get here, there'll be nothing to save!"
Almost proving Jack's point immediately, dark shadows suddenly wrapped itself around one palace towers, like a great, smouldering python. With a sickening crack, the coils tightened, and the tower crumbled, falling into the streets below with a thundering crash.
Screams filled the air, and Jack felt all the blood run from his face as his eyes landed on an abandoned yet familiar teddy bear in the middle of the street, surrounded by dust and rubble. He took half a step towards the bear, before Aster spun him around and looked him dead in the eye.
"The allies of Caruselle are far away, yes. But Jack – you have allies elsewhere. You live in the northern most kingdom of the Southern Realm! Think for a minute!"
Jack looked at him as if Aster had gone mad. The tall soldier slapped a hand to his forehead, smearing sweat and grime over his brow, and groaned. "Fares Almighty – You have Northern blood! You have a Moon-kindred, bondmate, Soul mate, whatever – in the Archipelago Mountains. A Son of a Chieftain, no less! I doubt if you asked for help, they would refuse you!"
Jack fumed, the chaos around them momentarily forgotten. "How do you know he's from the Mountains?!"
"HE SPEAKS MÛNTHAN!" Aster bellowed. "IT DOESN'T TAKE A GENIUS! MÛNTHAN? MOUNTAIN? FOR FARES' SAKE, JACK, USE COMMON SENSE!"
SCREEEECH.
Both heads snapped up to where the sound and come from, and both gasped as they came face to face with what looked like a mass of burning shadow, with nothing visible about its features except eyes that glowed red as hot coals, and a maw of teeth as sharp as shattered glass.
There was a split second silences where both Jack and Aster had frozen, locked in the stare of this horrific creature. Then it opened its jaw even further, seeming to unhinge it, before letting rip a great, garbled, shrieking scream.
Naturally, both young men screamed back.
With an air of utter finality, Aster shoved Jack in the direction of the palace, yanking out a strangely crooked sword from the sheath at his belt. "Don't argue with me, bite size! Use the west tunnel – get out of here!"
Jack wanted to help. He looked around madly for anything he could use – a spear? A lance? Heck, even a flagpole would do! But he could only watch as Aster drew his second crooked sword and lunged for the creature. But no matter how the captain hacked and slashed, it did no harm to the creature. It was like trying to cut smoke.
Jack had never felt so helpless. He stepped back, fumbling behind himself fruitlessly for some kind of weapon, eyes glued to the scene of Aster locked in equally fruitless combat before him. That was how Jack didn't even realise what he was walking into…what hid behind him.
He gasped in horror as something locked around his throat – shadowy, flickering fingers, with nails like talons. His fingers scrabbled at the scaly collar as it began to squeeze. He gulped at the air, sputtering and choking, his legs starting to kick out wildly. Black spots appeared before his eyes as the crumbling courtyard seemed to swim before him.
As he gasped, he swore he saw something; a figure running towards him in the distance, sword raised; and completely engulfed in blue fire. The familiar figure's eyes seemed to burn with it, even as their face blurred before his eyes. They reached for Jack, freckled hands yanking at the claws that choked him. Jack could hear the boy yelling his name, screaming-
"JACK, WAKE THE HELL UP!"
Something suddenly clicked into place, and the creature behind Jack howled as it released him, letting him slump to the ground as he gagged for air. The mirage faded, and the familiar face of Aster, with his jade green eyes, swam into view. Nothing like the eyes that burned with blue fire.
"W-what…what-"
"Don't argue with me this time, GET OUT!" Aster roared, dragging Jack to his feet and practically flinging him across the courtyard, before spinning on his heel to face not one, but two of those creatures. Jack listened this time, and kept running. It was only when he reached the palace doors that he made the mistake of looking back.
Aster had thrown himself upon the creatures, taking them both by surprise. He'd somehow managed to stand atop them, one foot resting on each of their hulking shoulders. He'd used his swords like dual ramrods – slamming the hilts into the creatures' temples before stabbing them both deftly between the eyes.
The creatures thrashed and screamed, throwing Aster from his tenuous perch. The Captain rolled with the forces, hitting the floor and tumbling across the courtyard.
Still the creatures thrashed blindly, obviously in pain, yet it seemed they wouldn't die – merely that they would stagger about the courtyard clumsily, the talons on their feet scraping across the cobbles.
Jack's eyes widened as one of the screaming creatures blundered closer and closer to Aster, who having hit the floor, had yet to get up. Jack felt the air in his bruised throat constrict; he couldn't scream, he couldn't warn Aster to move, he couldn't do anything to prevent-
Crunch.
Jack screamed anyway.
Tears blinded him as a hoarse cry clawed its way from his tender throat. Aster – or his body, at least – remained motionless. Jack wanted to run to him, but something was stopping him. The jagged needles of glass from the night before seemed to jar within him, and as the two creatures' eyes levelled onto him, a voice inside his head seemed to beg 'Do as Aster said – the West Tunnel! Now, Jack, please!'
From the corner of his eye, Jack swore he saw freckled fingers clutching at his cloak – now ripped in a few places, and dirtied beyond ruin – pulling him back towards the palace doors. But as he turned, the hands on him seemed to evaporate, the image fading into nothing.
Having turned away from the sight of Aster, limp and broken on the street, Jack couldn't allow himself to look again. If he did, he would run to Aster's side, probably dooming himself in the process. Because how could he help Aster now? Aster, who had sacrificed himself so Jack could escape.
Jack hissed and pulled his cloak tighter around himself as he threw himself into the abandoned palace, hating himself more with every step he took; further away from his family, further away from Aster, further away from his home, his people… and closer to the unknown.
