The Judgement tarot card, usually numbered as the twentieth Major Arcana, depicts the Last Judgement, the day when the dead are summoned from their graves by the angel to face their doom. You've chosen your road, and now it's time to find out where you stand.
"Are we really just going to sit here?" Henry summarily rejected all of Neal's attempts to distract him with video games or TV. "My mother is still missing! And so is Nick..."
"Weaver and Rogers will find them." Neal tried to project more confidence than he felt. His father no longer had the vast power of the Dark One to draw on, and the bits of magic he had scavenged had been taken by his enemies. Still, Rumplestiltskin had centuries of experience and cunning.
Henry scoffed. "You think we can trust them? They don't exactly operate by the book, do they?"
"Well..."
"Even if they find my mother or Nick, what if they just sell them to the highest bidder?"
"Weaver wouldn't do that."
"Why do you trust him so much?" Henry's question held both worry and frustration.
Neal sighed. "Do you trust me?"
Henry frowned. "Well, you're my dad..."
Neal nodded, noting wryly to himself that Henry hadn't said "yes". Like father, like son, in that.
"What if you're wrong? And even if you're not, what if they need our help? It's just two of them—"
"—and a killer robot. Don't forget the killer robot."
Henry rolled his eyes. "It's probably some experimental prototype. I mean, if it wasn't, we'd have heard about it before, right? So it works in the lab, but once it's out there, what if it crashes or needs to be debugged or whatever, and they're in the middle of a fight?"
Neal sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Henry did have a fair point. He considered his broken wrist. He hadn't even told his son how that had happened.
Sensing weakness, Henry pressed on, "We can be super careful, just follow them and keep an eye out. You never know when any little thing could make the difference."
Neal snorted. "I suppose if it comes to it, we can call the police, Weaver's secrets be damned." He remembered his father's reluctance to get the rest of the department involved, but it could turn out to be the lesser evil. Weaver and Rogers had gone alone to Nick's house and ended up as prisoners. Neal also remembered what had happened in the other reality with Peter Pan. No one had been able to interfere, and Rumplestiltskin had killed himself, taking Pan with him, right in front of everyone. Even when his father meant well, his good intentions didn't protect him from bad consequences. He had become the Dark One with the best of intentions, after all. "If things go wrong, at least they'll have backup."
"Yeah, exactly."
"Ok, but no charging into danger, and no wandering off. If we do this, we're not taking any unnecessary risks." Neal eyed Henry sternly. He would have preferred to leave Henry in the relative safety of the house, but he knew there was no way the boy would stay put, and Neal didn't have anyone around that he could trust to watch him.
"I'll be careful, I swear."
Neal nodded. "One more problem. How are we even going to find them?"
Henry grinned and held up his phone. "I took a picture of Weaver's map, the one he had on his laptop."
Crude though it was, the image was clear enough that Neal could recognize the location. "Crap. I know that place."
"You do? Great! Come on, let's go."
Weaver no longer had the power to reverse the transformation Gothel had planted in Ivy, but he was able to twist the threads of the spell enough to bring Ivy's human consciousness to the fore. The other mind still lurked in the background, but that could be turned to their advantage.
"The ritual isn't complete yet," Weaver said, "or all of Seattle, never mind the rest of the world, would be smothered under a green carpet by now."
"No, but it's close," said Ivy. Nearly-human eyes peered out from a face streaked with bark. Leaves grew out of her hair and fingers.
"Can you tell where?" asked Weaver.
"This way." Ivy took a step deeper into the otherspace summoned by Gothel's ritual. "She has Stacy. And... Tilly." She glanced back at Rogers, who had the look of someone who had swallowed too many impossible things before breakfast.
At the mention of Tilly, Rogers looked alarmed. "What does she want with Tilly?"
Ivy glanced at Weaver, and he shook his head. Rogers didn't remember, didn't know who Tilly was to him, or who Alice was to Drizella. Who Ivy was to Tilly was another matter, and Weaver hoped they had made that connection in the short time they had been given.
"Tilly... Tilly is a gifted young woman," Weaver said to Rogers. "She also happens to be Gothel's daughter, though Gothel's been no mother to her."
"Mother? That's..." Rogers began, then swallowed and corrected himself. "Highly improbable, isn't it?"
"Appearances can be deceptive, Detective Rogers," said Weaver, not wanting to burden Rogers yet with the knowledge of how Tilly had been conceived. Rogers already cared about Tilly, blood relationship or not. And as soon as he remembered, the cursed poison in his heart would kick in, making any reunion bittersweet. "Gothel is older than any of us."
"She's taken Tilly for her coven," said Ivy. She didn't say why Gothel hadn't taken Ivy herself, but Weaver could guess. Ivy had been drained of magic and left in the well, while Roni had been taken. Two dead witches, two replacements, and no more use for Ivy. No more use from Gothel's perspective, that is.
Weaver nodded to Ivy. "Gothel may be her birth mother, but your bond with Tilly... she needs you to remind her of where her heart truly lies."
Ivy's eyes were pained behind the wooden mask. "I hope she remembers."
"As long as you believe, there's hope," said Weaver. Magic always had a component of faith. "Hold onto it."
Ivy nodded. She led them through ever thicker growth, brush and small trees solidifying, larger trees fading in, vines falling across their path, narrowing their way until it became impassible. She touched the barrier, keeping it fixed in their reality long enough for Weaver to deal with it. He went at it with the loppers, while Rogers took up the pruning shears, which were easier to wield one-handed.
"Fairy tales, huh? I take it Sleeping Beauty's prince didn't have heavy duty stainless steel gardening tools," said Rogers.
"The trick is to keep it from regenerating faster than you can cut it," Weaver explained. This was the easy part. He could use Ivy to manipulate the threads of the magical wall, but it was only a passive defense. Facing Gothel herself (and Samdi) would be a different matter.
"Ok, did we fall into another wormhole or what?" Henry asked in a low voice. Neal could hear him trying not to panic.
"Wormhole, portal — po-tay-to, po-tah-to," Neal muttered. He took a calming breath. "Usually they're more obvious, but..." He looked around. "Yeah. This is way beyond the Seattle Underground that the tourists see."
"It could be an optical illusion, projections and tricks with lighting. There was this painting they showed us on this field trip..." Henry only sounded half-convinced.
"We don't have time to figure it out." Neal studied the ground. "I'm pretty sure they went this way. Come on. But keep your voice down; we don't know who might hear us."
Ivy could feel Gothel's ritual in her bones, now spliced with splinters of wood, and on the bark that her skin had become. It felt like the sun, or a blazing fire — one that she was walking straight into. She fought down her dread with thoughts of Alice.
Alice could still be saved. Ivy held onto that belief. No matter how Ivy had changed, or how Alice had changed, they were still themselves.
Then the last curtain of vines gave way and they could all see the ritual circle where the eight-spoked wheel had been carved into a stone floor. A cloaked figure stood at the end of each spoke. Their faces were barely visible under the hoods as they chanted in a long-lost tongue. Beyond the wheel, in the shadows, were three more shapes. Ivy could feel them watching, feel the force of will that directed the coven of eight. She saw a gleam of glowing green eyes.
"Stacy..." Ivy started forward, but a hand on her arm stopped her.
"Not yet." Weaver spoke from right behind her. "Free Tilly first. Break the circle. Rogers and I will distract Gothel."
Ivy nodded, gritting her teeth at the necessity to choose. But Weaver was right. The coven was absorbed in the ritual. Gothel was the primary danger at the moment, but if she was distracted, breaking the ritual would weaken her. And Ivy had the best chance of that, if she could pull Alice free.
"Wait for your moment," Weaver breathed. And then he was gone, sneaking through the shadows in a wide circle around the coven, Rogers and the robot at his back.
The look of triumph on Eloise Gardener's face dispelled any lingering notions of her innocence that Rogers harbored. She had her hands raised as she controlled her coven, her motions reminiscent of a band director. Samdi and Stacy Belfrey flanked her, one on either side, Samdi blank-faced and Stacy glowing from within with an eerie green light.
Rogers drew his gun and advanced warily. Force of habit impelled him to announce, "Seattle Police. Eloise Gardener, Baron Samdi, you're under arrest for—" His jaws froze before he could list their crimes.
Samdi turned his head to meet his eyes. Another pair of dolls had materialized in his hands. Rogers saw out of the corner of his eye that Weaver, too, seemed paralyzed. But their silent companion sprang into action.
In a move faster than the human eye could follow, the robot was upon Samdi. Samdi hit the ground, his fingers springing open. Two dolls tumbled free. Rogers lurched forward, loosed from Samdi's compulsion. Weaver charged past him at Gothel, but she flicked a hand at him, and a burst of white slammed into his chest, sending him hard into the ground. Before she could do the same to Rogers, he tackled her from the side, grappling her in hopes of stopping her spellcasting.
Then lightning struck him in the back of his neck, shooting up and down his spine, racing through his limbs. His muscles numb and quivering, no longer responding to his command, Rogers felt his legs spasm and give way.
He stared up helplessly at Stacy Belfrey, realizing too late that she must be under Eloise Gardener's control. And bursting with wild magic.
"Tilly. Tilly, it's me." Ivy sidled up to Tilly, keeping out of view of Gothel as best she could while the latter was busy crushing Weaver and Rogers. She wanted to reach out, push back the damned hood, but she didn't dare.
Under the hooded cloak, Tilly looked as distant as any of the eight. She stood on the pronged tip of fate, shifting it in obedience to Gothel's will. The center of the circle glowed, ancient memories coalescing into the roots onto which a new future would be grafted.
"You don't have to do this," Ivy said softly. "Listen to me..." She ventured a touch on Tilly's sleeve.
"No." Tilly swung her head around at the word, her eyes unseeing as she raised a hand to block Ivy. An invisible force flung her away from the circle. Tilly resumed chanting.
Ivy struggled to her feet, her joints reluctant to bend. She made her way back to Tilly's side. "Do you remember who I am?"
"A sapling. A stray. A distraction." The words floated out over the chanting.
"No, don't look at the tree. Look at me. Can you see me? We knew each other, once upon a time."
"We are all trees," said Tilly. "All children of the great ash. Look! It grows again from the heart of the world."
"The world is a weird, wonderful place. You used to know that. It's full of life of all kinds. We aren't all trees and grass." Ivy didn't try to touch her this time, but she could tell Tilly was listening. "When we met, you were stone and I was a rat in a maze. Do you remember?"
"And then she came, my mother, to cure us of the darkness," Tilly said slowly, distantly.
"This isn't a cure, what she plans. This is genocide, this is extinction." Ivy finally caught Tilly's gaze. "This will be the end of us."
"Us?" echoed Tilly blankly.
"Of you, of me, of everything that we were, light and darkness both." Ivy held up her hands, lacing her fingers together in illustration. "This is life. Together, apart, selfish, altruistic, it's all tangled together."
"She says the new order will be better."
"But is it what you want?" Ivy asked desperately.
"I... I want..." Tilly's eyes filled with confusion.
The trail through the impossible jungle was littered with cut branches and fallen lengths of vine. Neal led the way, Henry close behind him. Sunlight glimmered through the leaves when there should have been nothing above them but concrete and steel and dirt.
Lights flashed ahead. Neal felt the prickle of magic thick in the air, and then he saw through the last layer of vegetation a clearing ahead. Eight cloaked figures chanted, a glowing wheel inscribed beneath their feet, while beyond them he glimpsed a blur of moving figures locked in combat. He turned to caution Henry, only to find that his son had seen what Neal had missed.
Henry ran forward before Neal could stop him, shouting, "Mom!"
Weaver ducked and scrambled and slid out of the way of Gothel's magical attacks, silently thankful that the curse had given him an uncrippled body in this world. The golem — the android — left Samdi unconscious and moved on to attack Stacy, pulling her off Rogers. Weaver shouted a command code to keep it from killing the girl.
He dodged another blast of force from Gothel, arranging to land next to Samdi. He took the opportunity to frisk the body, and when he rolled away again, the Blue Fairy's wand was once again in Weaver's possession. Having improved the odds, Weaver drew out the battle as long as he dared, hoping to give Ivy enough time to break through to Tilly. Then he heard Henry shouting for his mother.
Henry was here? Appalled, Weaver launched an attack on Gothel.
Gothel smiled, deflecting Weaver with ease. "The rite is nearly complete. The Great Tree brings light, and you cannot stop it."
Weaver gritted his teeth and pushed back. "But fate is not yet fixed. That's why you need the coven." He looked past Gothel at the eight witches. If the circle broke... "Roni! Roni, your son needs you!"
"Roni is a lie," sneered Gothel. "Regina has no son. Your words fall on deaf ears."
"It's not a lie if she makes it true," retorted Weaver. "You're forgetting one thing. Roni loves Henry. They're family. And that's something Regina always craved."
"Mom." Henry had reached his adoptive mother. He touched her arm, pleading, "Mom, snap out of it!"
And Weaver could see that Regina heard her son. That Roni heard. Roni, who was no witch at all.
The circle wavered. In that moment of instability, Ivy saw Tilly struggle to the surface.
"I... I want..." Tilly's eyes finally saw Ivy. She reached out to cup Ivy's cheek with a trembling hand.
Ivy couldn't breathe. She could barely feel the touch through the bark that formed her skin, but she couldn't look away.
"You." Tilly didn't look away either. With her other hand, she pushed back the hood, no longer subservient to the coven's enforced uniformity.
Closer, then. Tilly moved, or Ivy moved, or both. Their lips met.
Light flared outward, a rainbow sheet racing through reality at the speed of thought, the Dark Curse dissipating in its wake.
Rogers was just grateful to be alive. For a long, agonizing moment, he could only lie there, breathing shakily, barely able to wiggle a toe. His ears felt muffled, all the voices around him faint and indistinct.
Then he was being dragged out of the melee. An involuntary tilt of his head as he was manhandled brought Weaver's face into view. Rogers wanted to ask whether they were winning or losing, but couldn't force his tongue to shape the words, and Weaver's tense expression betrayed nothing. Stronger than he looked, Weaver arranged Rogers behind him. Rogers glimpsed a flash of blue from Weaver's hand. Was that the wand? Then an even brighter wall of rainbow light engulfed them.
His head flooded with images bizarre yet familiar. Memories rushed back. Names. Centuries of people, places, events. He wasn't Rogers. He was Killian Jones. He was both. Overwhelmed by the weight of his own history, he vented his confusion in an inarticulate groan.
Weaver — gods, not Weaver — turned at the sound, and this time a faint line of concern slipped through the mask.
"Crocodile," Rogers managed at last.
"Hook." Damn him, there was actually a fleeting smile before Weaver's expression went blank again and he turned back to face Gothel. He must have been protecting both of them from the witch's attacks, Rogers realized. But what about Alice? He struggled upright, his legs still shaky. He swayed and nearly collapsed again, but grabbed Weaver for support instead. "Alice. Help Alice."
"Ivy is with her," Weaver said quietly. Then he raised his voice and said to Gothel, "Your circle is broken."
Neal, cursing himself for his slow reflexes, chased after Henry across the circle to where Roni stood at the end of one of the spokes carved into the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ivy talking to Tilly. He heard Weaver's voice, shouting something at Roni, but Neal's focus was on his son. "Henry, get out of there. It's too dangerous!"
"Mom, Mom, snap out of it," Henry begged. Ignoring Neal, Henry reached out for Roni's arm. "It's me, Henry. Your son."
Roni — or was it Roni? — glanced at him, but said nothing.
"Please, listen. Whatever they did to brainwash you, you can fight it," said Henry. "I know you can. You're stronger than them."
Neal pulled Henry out of the circle, but Henry refused to let go of his mother.
Roni's eyes softened, glistening in the unnatural light. "Henry..."
Then the rainbow exploded through them, and everything changed.
Henry dropped Roni's hand. He abruptly stopped resisting Neal's attempt to drag him away, causing both of them to stagger back, nearly falling over. "You're not my mother!"
And by the hurt expression in Roni's — Regina's — face, Neal knew that she had already remembered, even before the curse had broken.
"No, Henry, don't..." Regina fought free of whatever spell had bound her to the ritual. "I... please, I love you. You are my son."
"It was all fake," spat Henry.
Neal kept silent, but continued leading Henry back the way they had come, away from whatever magic was brewing in the circle. He tried to ignore the shifting lines of reality as he forced his way back towards the human world.
Before they could escape the under-city, Henry stopped and rounded on him, shaking free of his hold. "And you! What are you? My real father is dead."
"I was," Neal said. "Fate brought me back."
"You mean magic? But why? Why only after seventeen years?" Henry looked past Neal at Regina, who had caught up with them. "I don't want lies. You're not my mother. Why pretend?"
"Because it was good," pleaded Regina. "We were happy. We were a family. We could still be a family. You've lost so much, and so have I."
"Don't you dare compare yourself to me! You were the Evil Queen. You brought it on yourself. The other you from the other realm is the reason I lost my family!"
"I wasn't always the Evil Queen. It was the pain of losing my love that turned me down that path. Please, I don't want that to happen to you." Regina said, and knowing what he did of the other reality, Neal could believe her. "I can help you. We can help each other."
"Help each other?" Henry scoffed.
Regina nodded. "If Gothel wins, none of this will matter. We'll all be her slaves. Just as I was. Just as Facilier is now. If we defeat Gothel, we'll be free. And we can build a new life in this new world, turn the Dark Curse into a blessing."
"Gothel." Henry growled the name. "She made us... it was because of her. That I had to cast the curse. That I— No, you're right. We have to kill her." He jerked free of Neal's grip and dashed back towards the ritual site.
"No, wait!" Neal glared at Regina. "He's just a boy! He'll be slaughtered."
"Gothel's not the only witch," Regina said darkly. "And are you really stupid enough to think you'll be safe out here?"
"Damn it." Neal moved to follow Henry. He knew how confusing it was to have too many memories in your head, how it made a hash of all your good sense. Henry needed time to sort out the multiple identities and figure out which voice to follow. Unfortunately, they didn't have time.
Weaver noted the departure of his son and grandson with relief, and was glad to see Roni follow them. That made two gone from Gothel's ritual. On the other hand, Stacy, transformed by Gothel into an avatar of brute nature, had effectively dismembered the android, leaving Weaver with one less ally. He felt a pang of regret, but had no time to think about repairs. Or about Tilly's no doubt touching reunion with her father — Rogers had inevitably slipped away to join her as closely as he was able with his poisoned heart.
"You've lost, Dark One," Gothel said. "The world will be light."
"Not yet," grated Weaver. He forced his will into the wand. Two spokes of fate remained in play. He just needed to bend them...
Gothel's hand twisted, her fingers snapping shut with jaws of magic. The wand shattered into thousands of splinters, splinters that burst into flame, consumed before they hit the ground. "You have no power to stand against me."
Weaver stumbled back, shaken by the explosion of magic. A hand on his arm steadied him.
"But your daughter does." Rogers had returned, with Tilly and Ivy in tow.
"You have to stop." Tilly stepped forward, but she sounded much less certain than her father had. Ivy whispered something in encouragement.
Gothel chuckled. "Mere power will not avail you." She beckoned to Stacy, who moved obediently to stand at Gothel's side. The witch laid a possessive hand on the girl's shoulder. "Drizella, you were a disappointment as much as your mother was, but your sister has lived up to her potential. She is the Guardian of Destiny. She holds your fates in her hands, and her hands are my hands."
"Stacy, no." Ivy moved forward to appeal to her sister, but Stacy's magic sent her crashing to the ground. "Stacy..." The name ended in a strangled gasp. Bark grew over Ivy's face, and her feet became roots.
"No!" Tilly whirled, going to Ivy, but her magic wasn't enough.
It was true, then, thought Weaver. Gothel had succeeded in creating a Guardian loyal to her own twisted vision.
Gothel laughed. "Behold!" She pointed at the circle of witches. One of the cloaked figures disintegrated in a shower of sparks, leaving behind a sapling growing in her place. A moment later, another witch transformed. Then another.
"Do something!" Rogers hissed in Weaver's ear.
"I'm open to suggestions," said Weaver, fighting back a wave of despair. She's too strong. He struggled to hold onto the last few sparks of power freed from the wand, to wrest control of their fates from Gothel's Guardian. Tilly left Ivy to confront Gothel again, drawing her attention and leaving Weaver and Rogers in a temporary eddy of peace.
"What has she done to Stacy?" Rogers grabbed him and shook him roughly, as if to rattle a few ideas loose. "How do we fight her?"
"Questions, questions." Weaver forced himself to focus, but he could feel his mind slipping. "She made Stacy her Guardian. The Guardian owns us, and Gothel owns the Guardian. Fate binds us in every direction."
"No, you said two spokes are free." Rogers loosed him and stepped away, his eyes going to the circle where the remaining witches continued their ritual.
"I said that?" He couldn't remember, couldn't distinguish between thoughts voiced and unvoiced. He shook his head. "Not for long. She'll have them in the end."
"No, she won't." And that was Tilly, or rather Alice — Alice who had never stopped fighting. "She may have a Guardian on her side, but we have one, too." She grabbed Weaver's left hand. "We have you, Rumplestiltskin."
The shock of hearing his true name cleared his mind long enough for him to protest, "What? I'm no Guardian. All I ever had was darkness..."
"You carry an instrument of fate." Then Tilly shot him an anxious glance. "The dagger. You do have it, don't you?"
"Y-yes." Weaver reached inside his jacket with his right hand and pulled out the Dark One dagger. But he wasn't the Dark One anymore; his power was spent and the dagger had no more to give him. All of which Alice had known, back in the other realm. Why did she think it could make him a Guardian?
Gothel looked as disbelieving as Rumplestiltskin felt. "A Guardian must be pure of heart. A Guardian must have the power to bind destiny. He was the Dark One, and now he is nothing..."
"No, he's not!" Tilly linked her magic to his. "Every soul in our realm passed through his hands; he spun their threads into this reality. None of them would have any destiny at all if not for him. As for his heart, purity isn't just about light and dark. That dagger isn't the fragment it once was. It's Excalibur. It's the Holy Grail. And if it chooses to bear Rumplestiltskin's name, that's proof enough of his worth, more than any of your little tests!"
"That's quite the argument," Weaver said, his head spinning from her impassioned elevation of him from former Dark One to Guardian. All that time he had been spinning the curse to cross reality, had Alice been researching the curse on him?
"It's foolishness." Gothel looked at Tilly. "This is our chance to cleanse the world of evil. Our chance to undo ancient mistakes, to restore the garden, but you would let in the serpent?"
"What's done is done. Mistakes are just upside-down inspirations, if you look at it right," said Tilly.
"I see no inspiration here, only mistakes." Gothel sneered at Rumplestiltskin. "You are corrupt beyond redemption, just as the grail was tainted by human darkness. You're no Guardian, whatever my daughter thinks."
"Change isn't the same as corruption," Tilly retorted. "And the serpent was always the guardian of Eden."
"I thought I was a crocodile," muttered Weaver.
"Something reptilian, that's for sure," said Rogers.
"You know I'm right." Tilly glared at Gothel.
"Aye, Starfish." Rogers clapped Weaver on the back. "Crocodile you may be, but you're our crocodile."
"That's right, Papa," Neal called out from the other side of the circle. He, Henry, and Regina emerged from the shadows to stand behind Weaver. "We're with you."
"Don't forget, we had a deal... Grandfather," Henry said. "You promised to help us."
"Damn right," said Regina.
It was a strange feeling to have so many people voice support for him. Desperate times indeed, Weaver thought, reminding himself that it was necessity that drove them to stand by the Dark One. Still, looking at their faces, he couldn't help wishing for more, and at least Bae... He swallowed the thought. No time to be maudlin. He had to focus, in case there was any chance of resistance.
"Very well." Gothel surveyed their battered group. Her voice dripped with scorn, "Fight if you must. Your nature is to waste your energy in futile conflict, but that will change soon enough."
The storm was here. A vast tide of magic swept over them, and only Alice and Regina's combined shield kept them from instantly transforming into Gothel's trees.
Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes, silently begging the dagger to grant him this miracle. He imagined the spinning wheel, remembered the feel of the souls running through his fingers. They deserved their own lives, independent of the plans of gods or mad tree nymphs. Imperfect, selfish, violent... their flaws were an integral part of the weave. Having held the threads of their fates, he knew that better than anyone. Most of the time, the knowledge was too much for any mortal to bear, but right now they needed a Guardian.
Alice's alchemy transmuted that knowledge into the power to preserve the souls that were its source. A Guardian's power.
They were under his protection. Even when he forgot who he was, he remembered that he would never give them up. He fell to his knees, the dagger clutched in his fist, anchoring him to his chosen reality.
All around him, the battle raged. He dimly sensed Hook fighting past the poison shredding his heart to stand with his daughter. Regina was a looming presence at his shoulder, her spells flying fast and wild. His son and grandson huddled together somewhere behind him, waiting for the end.