Chapter 23- Ice vs. Fire
…
With horror, Marcel could see two new broom riders ascending on either side of the flying coach, bringing the number of attackers up to four.
Vulnerable in the open air, he let go of the reins with his left hand, praying the horses would continue to soar at rocket speed. He immediately conjured a shield for himself, but it could only protect from the side the spinning golden disc faced.
Flames spit out from the man's long, sword-like wand. Marcel winced from a shock of pain; a spark touching his shoulder as he maneuvered the golden shield to block the fire.
Marcel chose the ice spell, the strongest one he could send from his bare hand. He shot the retaliatory curse to the Le Ministère agent, who'd conjured his own spinning shield disc.
The two spells collided, fire and ice, bouncing off each other, cancelling each other out. Marcel noticed that the man wore a black hood to shield his face. Show yourself, coward, he thought.
He heard Agathe shout from inside the coach. With the wind howling in his ears, all attention focused on the Le Ministère fighter to his left, he had no idea what she'd said. He knew she was battling the other fighters from her carriage window along with Aloysius and Toulouse. He was backed up on all sides.
Is Adelaide all right? he thought. Stupidly stubborn woman!
Because she loved him so much. The thought of her love fueled Marcel's magic. The other man's fire began to dim.
He concentrated all of his might on keeping his shield disc impenetrable and continuing a steady stream of powerful ice. His hand felt numb with the cold; his head throbbed with the effort it took. Finally, after moments of grappling the hooded man, his opponent's shield disk shattered. Marcel's curse hit the man square in the heart.
He transformed into an opaque, white ice statue before he'd even had the chance to yell.
The frozen man and his broom plummeted to earth, their dropping silhouettes looking much like Aloysius had looked on that frightful day.
Marcel pushed away the reality of what he had done. He did not want to consider any facts about this...time to press on. One vanquished, three to go.
A glow of soft light illuminated the dusk-violet skies around them, and a pained yell came from the broom rider on Marcel's right-hand side. He turned to watch, shield disc on the ready. One of his allies inside the carriage had just sent a curse, and Marcel had a very good idea which person it was.
The man's cries of pain were turning into the squeals of a pig. Not only that, but the cloaked man was shrinking in size. His nose became snoutlike. The hands on the broomstick and wand transformed into animal's hooves.
A pinkish hog sat upon the broom where the man had been seconds before. The black cloak fell from its body and soon the cloven-hooved creature lost grip of the broom.
The pig, the broom, and its clothing dropped and disappeared into the misty clouds below.
"Agathe!" Marcel shouted. "You-"
"Pay attention, Marcel! I've got this!" Agathe chided.
Two remaining broom riders approached, side by side, just meters behind him.
"Aloysius! Agathe! Watch my damned tail, won't you?" Marcel said in alarm.
"Trust me, dear!" Agathe scolded with what seemed to be no fear in her voice. The woman's a beast, he thought.
As Marcel turned his shield and prepared to shout 'Geler!' again, he heard Agathe cry out the words "Le Interiéur Dehors!"
It was clear to him now, why the other man had become a pig of all things. It was HER curse. Her signature. The one she'd once used on a Sans-Magie prince, because she'd been so furious he'd grown up to be like his father...
Agathe's curse hit another Ministry thug. He began to shrink out of his clothing until he became what looked to be a rat.
The bundle of clothing and the broom began to drop. Marcel could see the rodent's mouth, with its tiny incisor teeth, let out a squeak. Its paws clawed the empty space around it; a desperate attempt to stay airborne. It fell from the sky to the earth below.
"I've always hated rats!" Marcel heard Aloysius exclaim. "Good one, Agathe!"
"Merci, Agathe!" Marcel exclaimed.
"Petrifier!" the last living enemy shouted behind him. Marcel knew that voice.
He wished he could maneuver his golden shield disc in a less awkward movement. He was vulnerable again, no choice but to turn around on his carriage seat and face backwards to see the last enemy. He risked falling from the carriage and attempting a Levitation. There was no way he could even accomplish such a thing. Certainly not while wielding a shield disc, and trying to throw ice curses all at the same time! Even Merlin himself couldn't have done it.
One wrong move, one slow reaction, and it would mean certain death.
"Agathe!" The cry was Aloysius' voice. He sounded so unlike himself. Aloysius had always seemed so cool, unaffected, unruffled as a pond on a breezeless summer day. Something was wrong inside the coach.
"Good evening, Clement!"
The last broom rider drew nearer. He sidled up to Marcel on the carriage seat, boldly showing his face. Pale blue eyes met his in a look of questioning challenge. Alexis Sauvageon.
"My dear aunt just murdered two of my colleagues, while you murdered one! Welcome to the brotherhood of killers, Marcel, mon garçon."
"I had to do what needed to be done," Marcel replied tensely. "I'm willing to do it once more."
"His name was Quilicus Volant," said Sauvageon in a low tone as he flew even nearer. "He had a wife and three small children. You just created a widow and orphans, who cannot claim a body to bury because the shards of ice on the ground are melting this very moment."
"Volant?" Marcel had not recognized the man in the skirmish just moments ago. The name, however, brought him an instant image of a youth who'd inspired him in sport over a decade before. He hadn't heard the name 'Quilicus Volant' in years. Quill. The older boy had been his coach and mentor. One of the best Boule de Plume Seekers at the Académie.
All those practice drills. Coach Quill's advice about choosing the right broom so it becomes 'one' with you, an extension of your body just as a wand. He'd helped all to become better players regardless of blood status or social standing. Andre Rosier had been a mutual friend of Quill's as well. How could he have changed so?
The man must have gone under the influence of Corvus and Falco, the two snobbish wizard supremacist brothers who'd ruled over the Académie during Marcel's school years.
Marcel kept the shield strong and his spell-casting arm steady as tears stung the back of his eyes. His former chief knew him well enough to torture him with words and harsh truths before delivering any blows.
"You feel anguish right now, don't you?" Sauvageon mocked. "Still a weak child."
"He tried to kill me…"
"And I'm about to do the same," Alexis said in a calm, almost soft voice. He raised his wand over his head, his expression hard to read.
"You couldn't bring yourself to kill your own aunt just now! I heard you use Petrifier and now she's unconscious inside that carriage. You have some good in you," Marcel blurted out.
Alexis' hand stilled. "What are you talking about, Clement? I'm saving her death for later!" he scoffed. "When you are dead, she's next. Then it will be Aloysius, and then the werewolf, and then the tarnished-blood boy. Your lady friend will be left alive when I set this carriage on fire."
"Marcel!" Adelaide screamed. She must be terrified, the others in the carriage battling out their windows and Agathe out cold.
"So you are nothing but a beast," Marcel said to Sauvageon with disgust. Agathe's voice came into his mind's ear.
'Le Intérieur Dehors,' she was saying. 'Make an attempt.'
"Le Intérieur Dehors!" He found himself choking out the words of her special curse, just as he shielded himself from Alexis' curse of Feu de la Mort, the same fire attack the masked Coach Quill had used. The blazing heat radiated from Alexis' wand. Marcel could feel it blistering his palm painfully, in spite of his shield. His right hand controlled the magical shield, his left hand was extended out, pointing at Sauvageon and vulnerable to the flame as he focused on his own curse. Become what you are on the inside!
As Alexis Sauvageon aimed his streak of fire at Marcel, a look of shock crossed his face. Distracted, the flames began to subside.
Sauvageon's face transformed and elongated like that of a horse. Dark fur replaced the fair skin and golden beard, and a pair of horns, like a goat's, sprouted from the top of his head. Sauvageon's clothes ripped to reveal a hair covered body, still like a large man's but with a long tail like a donkey's. His hands and feet became webbed. It was the oddest creature Marcel had ever seen.
"What the hell?" Robert Lefebrve exclaimed as he looked out of the carriage window and caught sight of what had been done.
Like the others before, the beast fell into the abyss of darkening sky.
Marcel looked down and saw that they were still flying above the sea. The thought came to him that if the beast were to survive the impact, he would plunge beneath the depths and drown.
"Marcel!" Adelaide cried out. "Please talk to me! What was that thing?"
"Adelaide- I'm still here!"
"She's been Petrified!" Aloysius said. "Are you hurt?"
"My hand is burned," said Marcel, finally turning off his charmed shield and allowing himself to truly feel the pain of his left hand after the adrenaline rush of the fight. Blisters had formed on his palm.
Felix and Fifi, the horses, began a descent as Marcel used his uninjured right hand to hold the reins once more, trying every ounce of strength to get them all landed. The horses had been bravely soaring on their own, all this time. Land was visible before them now. The coast of southern England.
...
They descended until the horses alighted themselves. The coach made a small bump and rolled safely on a grassy meadow not far from the rocky cliffs of the shore. It was chilly in the autumn season, the ground covered with dead leaves, and the sun was quickly setting. They needed to find some rest and shelter soon.
Marcel leapt down from the carriage seat. As soon as his boots hit the grass he collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. Toulouse and Robert sat down, spent as well, against the trunks of trees.
Adelaide sprang out of the carriage and rushed to her love's side, lying down next to him and using her warm cloak as a blanket to cover him. "You're hurt!" she exclaimed. Lorette the cat come from the carriage as well, curling up near the man's boots.
Robert and Toulouse used the remainder of their strength to go back and carry out the stiff and unconscious form of Mademoiselle Agathe. They lay her down on the soft grass and covered her with a wool blanket from a carriage seat. Aloysius knelt down next to his sleeping cousin.
"It will take about twelve hours to a day until she awakens. She's Sleeping Beauty for now," he said fondly.
"We need to go to my mother's in London," Marcel said weakly, lying face up with Adelaide cradling his head in her lap. "Robert, she knows about werewolf healing potions. She talked about them."
"I think you better worry about yourself, mon garçon, not me," said Robert. "I'm not the one burned by Feu de la Mort."
"Monsieur Aloysius, do you have anything for his burned hand?" Adelaide asked fretfully.
Aloysius checked his pockets and the bags inside the coach. There was only one vial of potion in his and Agathe's possession, and it was the heart-healing draught that he himself had been taking to recover from his fall over a week before.
"I lack the correct potion right now, my dear," he said sadly.
"Water, soap for cleaning, and bandages! We need at least those!" Adelaide cried. She tugged up the skirt of her dress and started to tear the white linen petticoat she wore beneath it. "Look in my red travel bag, I have soaps from the castle!"
Aloysius quickly conjured up three large jugs of water, enough for the night. When he checked Adelaide's bag, he found several yellow-tinted blocks of fine quality water-closet soap that Plumette had given to Adelaide back in her guest room at the castle. Adelaide hurriedly poured some water on the ripped fabric and rubbed it upon a block of soap.
"Marcel, I'm so sorry, but-"
Agonized groans of pain came from the man as she placed the cloth on his blistered hand. It hadn't been that long ago that Marcel's hands were cut up from tree branches when he'd crashed his broom, and now this.
"Don't you have a spell or something to dull pain? What do Enchanted doctors use?" Adelaide cried impatiently.
"I can try Lenio," said Aloysius. "It will take the edge off at least." He used his wand, pointing it only a few inches from Marcel's quivering left hand. "Lenio," he proclaimed. Marcel stopped his moaning and trembling and closed his eyes restfully.
"Merci," he said.
"You and I have been paying each other forward so often lately, mon ami," Aloysius said to him before returning to the side of his unconscious cousin. "I'm conjuring up a shelter. No need for these two hurt warriors to be lying here in the grass while night is falling." the oldest wizard proclaimed.
"I like it here, though," said Toulouse. "If any Sans-Magies are about, I know English and can communicate with them quite well in fact."
"Well, good!" said Robert cheerfully, but as he looked away from the boy he rolled his eyes a bit in sarcasm.
"I learned English too," Marcel piped up weakly.
"How so?" asked Robert.
"From my father who spoke it. He was a Magical diplomat before he died. He was um, Minister Bertrand's friend, unfortunately," he added with a bit of shame.
"Are you feeling all right, Marcel?" Robert asked him. "And I don't mean just your burnt hand. I mean-" Robert touched his meaty palm to his own muscular chest, "-here. You led us into a war battle. You fought your little heart out. I salute you!" Robert threw his hand stiffly up to his forehead and off to his side in a flourishing gesture, which caused Marcel to force a weak smile.
"If you need someone to talk to about what happened this evening, Marcel, we're here. All of us," said Aloysius.
"Merci. It's...right now I don't want to think about it. I'm still in shock. My...my old coach from school was-"
"Marcel," Adelaide said softly, watching his eyes redden and blink. "Sweetheart...you did what you needed to do. To save all of us." She glanced to where Agathe lay still beneath a blanket, looking as if she were asleep. Aloysius had conjured a pillow beneath the lady's head.
Marcel leaned his head against Adelaide's body, which served as a cushion. She sat cross-legged behind him, forming a soft bed of skirts and ripped petticoats. It may be improper, but propriety be damned in these circumstances. She caressed his stubbled cheek with her fair, dainty fingers. Marcel caught Adelaide's hand in his good one and began to recite a quote in English, his voice strengthening.
"I love thee with a love that shall not die. Till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old."
"That's so beautiful," Adelaide said, her eyes welling up along with his. "I know nearly every word. They say French is the language of love, but Shakespeare is lovely!"
"How did you know?" Marcel asked her, a hint of his bright grin breaking through, in spite of all his pain and shock.
"It was written on a giant plaque in the dining hall of the castle. Shakespeare is Adam and Belle's favorite!" Adelaide said cheerily.
They both laughed, Marcel's mood lifting. "Oui, I saw it there, and I memorized it. I was waiting to say it to you," he admitted.
Adelaide shifted her position to a reclined one, to kiss Marcel softly on his lips. He raised his good hand up to touch and caress her hair, then her shoulder and back.
"Get a room, kids," Robert joked as he watched the two cuddle and kiss upon the leaf-strewn grasses.
...
Aloysius stood up and raised his wand as dusk settled and cold set in. In minutes, he conjured a small cottage with a few rooms, not unlike the one he and Agathe had shared on the castle grounds back in France.
It was just in time, for darkness set and the autumn's waxing gibbous moon hung bright over the countryside. Robert tended to Marcel's horses and urged Aloysius to conjure a stable for them, making the point that the two animals were also heroes of the day.
Aloysius was generous enough to conjure six separate beds in three seperate rooms. For propriety, he assigned Adelaide the room where they'd laid down his Petrified cousin, keeping the women apart from the men. Adelaide was too exhausted to protest and welcomed the privacy, falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Aloysius himself turned in on the small bed next to the one where Marcel slept as deep as Agathe was, his hand wrapped in white linen fabric.
The young man was becoming almost like a son to him, and his pretty fiancée almost like a daughter. He didn't know Robert or Toulouse that well yet, but he was very glad they were along. The band of fugitives- four wizards, one enchantress, and an ordinary former lady's maid, would need to move on to get help very soon. Aloysius hoped to leave the next day.
Just as Aloysius was about to go to sleep, the waxing gibbous moon shone bright in his little window. It was nearly at full, and that gave him concern for the other man amongst their group.
...
In the next room, Robert Lefebrve could not sleep. He wandered back outside and gazed up at the nearly spherical silver beauty in the sky. Clouds flittered over its brilliant light.
"I need to go away," the large man agonized. "Far away."
…
A.N.- A big, huge thank you to 'Guests' who've helped me to not give up on finishing this. I have several more chapters until it's wrapped up. Not sure how many yet.
Credit to 'Harrypotterfanon dot com' because I searched for pain spells and decided to go with 'Lenio' from another author's HP fanfic. I believe that is a fanon spell, not canon. The magical 'rules' in this story are still a fanon-y crossover hodgepodge of Potterverse and BatB verse with some Frozen, Little Mermaid and Star Wars themes thrown in. I'm taking creative license, but as always- I give credit to JK Rowling, particularly some of the character surnames HP fans may recognize.