Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.

I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Chapter 19

Plum was in a frenzy.

Marianne and the others could barely keep up with her. If not for her glow and periodically darting back to make sure they were following, they would have lost her within seconds.

"Has she always been this fast?" Roland asked.

"I don't know." She glanced back. "Don't fall behind."

"This ain't my first pursuit."

Whether it was his open, to-the-point answer or his failure to end the sentence with some pet name, Marianne found herself surprised, despite the situation. Even her customary annoyance with his existence failed to make an appearance at his question. I have more important things to think about, she reminded herself, refocusing on Plum's glow up ahead.

The part of the forest she was leading them into was older and more overgrown. As fast as they were trying to be, they kept getting held up by hanging vines and thick foliage, having to fly up and around, duck over and under. Plum's frustration only added to theirs. Especially with the whispers from the ground teams that Guudahl brought to her attention.

Something was wrong with the forest and the growth. It was different from what it should be. And yet at first glance it seemed like nothing was amiss. But touch, smell, and even taste made it clear that it was off somehow, as if tainted.

Definitely tainted by something, Marianne thought. For a brief moment, her mind flashed to Cole and indignation roared into her chest. Did he really have something to do with all this? If so, how? More importantly, why? If anything happens to Bog because of you… She tightened her grip on her sword.

"Whoa!"

Marianne jolted to a stop as a bank of air caught her from underneath, Roland diving under and up, coming on guard in front of her. "Roland! What are you-"

"Shh!" He raised his fist in a "stay" motion before pointing down.

She looked to see what he was pointing at when Plum shot out of the overbrush. "Now-now-now! HERE!"

Marianne groaned angrily and hovered up and over Roland, looking to the area of attention as she made her way to Plum. At the bases of the trees among the undergrowth were burlap or canvas covered structures. They were lumpy and bulging in several places. She motioned for Guudahl, signaling him to get a ground team and investigate.

Roland hovered up close, eyes still on the objects. "I saw something running off them, like shadows moving," he whispered. "The things you're talking about?"

Marianne nodded. "Probably- BLF!"

She was cut off as Plum rammed into her arm and shook her. "Marianne, NOW!"

The sheer panicked trill of the other woman's voice sent chills vibrating down her spine. But before she could protest or try to reason caution, Plum grabbed her free hand and dragged her through the air, the strength of her own wings failing to stop the other woman's flight. "Plum, wa-"

"NO! NOW!"

"Flight tight, follow point!" Roland ordered.

Marianne spared a glance back to see him behind her with the other fairies forming a line behind him. He nodded to her, determination on his face. She nodded back and stopped resisting, turning to follow Plum in earnest. She led them through a thicket growth at the bottom of a large, blackened tree and flew downward. Trusting Plum to lead, she gripped her smaller forearm and let Plum's motions guide her as a tunnel swallowed them. It started as a split segment of the tree, cracked open and apart to grant access inward, but then angled down sharply where the smell of dirt and rock permeated the air. Only Plum's glow lit the way, illuminating several holes shooting off from the pathway they were traveling through. Plum bypassed them all, however, continuing deeper.

Then, the tunnel spat them out into a large open space.

Plum slowed and Marianne took a moment to look around, though she could only see as far as Plum's light would allow. Roland and the others came out behind her, a few of the soldiers stepping onto the ground as the length from floor to ceiling was not much. She would have preferred to do the same, but decided against it, since Plum was … not moving.

"Plum?" She looked to the now still woman. "Plum what's-"

"Well, well, how crafty you are."

Instinct took over and Marianne lunged forward to grab Plum by the waist, cradling her close as she pointed her sword in front of them. She felt Roland and the others forming to her sides and behind her, forming a defensive circle. "Show yourself!" she ordered. A glow far to her right caught her attention and she pointed her sword as she looked.

Her eyes went wide.

A man, tall and translucent, stood watching them. A constellation of lights floated within his form and his body cast a deep azure glow where he stood.

Marianne stared. "Plum?" she whispered, her grip tightening around the other woman.

The man scoffed, a smirk cracking his lips. "She can't help you. Poor thing can't even help herself." He shrugged. "No matter. It's not like you stood much of a chance anyway." He grinned. "But don't worry, little flame. You'll get to play a key part here soon, I promise."

Before she could say anything, the man disappeared with a crackling hiss. She searched blindly around the room but could not catch any sight of his glow. "Plum, what is going on?"

"… no."

"What?" She looked to see Plum staring at the spot where the man had been. "Plum?"

Plum suddenly jolted from her grasp, racing to the area.

"Plum, WAIT!" Marianne flew after her, the others following close behind. An entrance was revealed under Plum's glow in the distance before the inside of a room lit up.

A scream pierced the air.

"NOOOOOOO!"

Marianne landed and darted into the room.

Her sword fell from her hand.

In the center of the room was Bog, doubled over and bound. But it was not the sight of her king subdued that halted her mind.

It was his indigo blood pouring over his back and sides in sheets and pooling on the ground around him. His top wings hung limply and awkwardly off to the sides, the wing stalks out of place.

A familiar noise caught her ears from somewhere in the distance. But her mind was all encompassed by the sight of Bog in a heap on the ground. Plum trembled in front of him, reaching out haltingly as if afraid to touch him.

"MARIANNE!"

She gasped as strong hands shook her shoulders, tearing her gaze away to see Roland's face in the dark. "We need to act fast."

She shook her head and nodded.

"Come on, Marianne." Roland quickly ducked, and moved his hands, sliding something hard and cold into her grip. She looked down to see it was her sword. He then shook her again. "Come on! Marianne! I need you to focus, we don't have much time!"

"Yes." She nodded again, her mind hitching but starting to move. "Yes. Yes, what do we do?"

Roland finally let go and trotted over to Bog, waving her after him before pointing to another guard. "Nathan, with me, the rest of you, on guard. Marianne, get Plum."

She sheathed her sword and hurried after them, rounding towards the other woman. Plum was still trembling, speechless on the floor. "Hey," she wrapped her hands over Plum's shoulders. She had a blank look on her face and did not respond to the touch.

"Nathan, the twine."

Marianne's gaze shot to the two, spontaneously remembering Nathan was the field healer. She watched as he and Roland worked in tandem, packing around Bog's wing joints with linen. Roland then grabbed the stalks of Bog's wings and lifted them into a proper position. He held them stationary as Nathan started wrapping the willow-twine around one and then lead a line to the other and did the same, rooting them to each other. Roland stretched one hand along the bottom side of the stalks, holding them in place as he reached around with his other arm and pulled Bog upward. She took that moment to assist, reaching out to support Bog at his chest. When his head lulled forward, she clenched her teeth, trying not to focus on how much her arm was shaking. And trying harder to keep her eyes off the wound suddenly illuminated on his side by Plum's light. Roland and Nathan worked to trail the twine over his shoulder and under his arm, rolling it over his back and then going under his opposite arm and back over the other shoulder, securing it at the opposing stalk, effectively harnessing the stalks into a stationary position.

"Okay," Roland looked to Plum and Marianne, "Nathan and I will carry him. Marianne, you'll lead and Plum, you'll light the way. Okay?" he looked to both of them for conformation.

"D-do you," Marianne swallowed hard. Focus! "Do you need to do anything else before we move him?"

Roland shook his head. "No. They tied his wings together at the bottom, so half our job was done, but we need to move now before he loses too much blood."

She nodded and redirected her attention to Plum. "Come on. Lead us out."

Plum said not a word but nodded slowly. She rose from the floor and drifted past them to the doorway as Roland and Nathan hefted Bog from the ground. They crossed their arms against one another beneath his torso, creating a double "X" underneath him.

Marianne had seen the soldiers practicing this move – needed to carry others with injured wings off the field. But had never considered how it would look to see the reality of it. Heat raced down her cheeks as she saw Bog's head dangling. She took a deep breath and started after Plum.

A glint caught her eye right as she made it to the door. She held up her fist and all stopped. The breath left her lungs and she bolted without thought.

Bog's staff.

The metal felt heavier than ever before in her grip, but she held it tight. You'd better live through this, she thought. She turned about-face and walked back to the door with new vigor. You had better live to hold this again.

They made their way back through the empty, expansive room, back up through the tunnel and out of the split in the tree into the thicket growth. Bog did not make a single noise or motion through the whole trek. Only a beat of a second after they cleared the spiny branches, Guudahl was at her.

"Princess! They're the villagers – the things on the ground – they were the villagers bound and covered!"

A flicker of relief passed through her, but it was short-lived. Guudahl caught sight of the staff in her hands and his face fell. She decided to beat his questions before they came. "We found him. It's bad. We need to get back to the castle now."

Guudahl nodded sharply. "Go. We can handle this."

She nodded back and made to pass him when his hand caught her shoulder.

"Take care of him, ghradhaich."

Marianne was quiet. She listened to the others hovering behind her. She kept her eyes locked with Guudahl's. He was working hard to keep from looking at the sight of Bog's motionless body. Removing one hand from Bog's staff to grip Guudahl's hand at her shoulder, she nodded slowly and with purpose.

"I will."

xXx

The sound of crackling fire echoed in the room. The smell of fresh burning wood and spices wafted in the air. Normally, these were a few of the comforting things that helped him calm himself and concentrate. But now they were irking his senses.

Dagda sat at his desk, head bowed, and forehead pressed against his clasped hands in front of him. Despite Rex's best suggestions, he could not ease his mind. What little food he managed sat like pebbles in his stomach. The tea tasted like muddy water and the fire warmed the room but set his nerves on edge. The books and scrolls littering his desk taunted him with bare information, enough to agree with what he knew by experience, but not enough to confirm his suspicions.

He could not blame Rex for thinking he was losing some semblance of sanity.

"Chasing shadows," he whispered. Sighing, he rose from his seat to pace his office for the umpteenth time that night. His mind circled back once again to the shadows that plagued him.

Chimaera.

Creatures of darkness. They would rip apart soldier and civilian alike, destroy both what was naturally formed and built with hands, and would wreak havoc on everything around them without remorse, honor or care of morality. However, their lethality and destructive force was not the worst part of these creatures.

These beasts were not born or bred.

They were constructed.

Crafted together with dark energy and malicious intent, the amalgamations were not animals of the natural order to be trained and domesticated. They were instruments.

And every instrument had a master.

Only one type of being could create these monsters. And that was what Dagda feared most.

Everything so far pointed to the existence of chimaera. The lack of animals and insect life in the forest, used as the building blocks for the creatures. A section singled out, impossibly quiet and impossibly still, the area in which they were being crafted. The presence of a particular smell… Dagda grit his teeth, turning on his foot to complete another circuit.

It stank in his nose as if it surrounded him now.

The fact that Sugar Plum was the one to tell Bog about the smell, tell Bog about the "black magick" was another stab into the delusion that it could possibly be anything else. Because of course she would know it.

She was a Djinn after all.

And only a Djinn could create chimaera.

He had suspected the Sugar Plum fairy of being a Djinn over a decade ago, when he heard the rumors and whispers of a strange being creating Love Potion for patrons every spring. He at first assumed it to be some strong aphrodisiac but having seen it's affects before her imprisonment, he knew at that point he was dealing with more than a simple apothecary. But then, he never dealt with it. She was locked away by the royal family of the Dark Forest and that was that. He had not even a chance to see the woman before all was said and done, and the descriptions were vague enough that they could have been tricks played on the eyes of her customers.

Then, three months ago happened.

He had more important things to focus on, and it seemed at the time she was less inclined to hurt and more inclined to be a helpful, chaotic mess. Though he had his suspicions that something was… wrong.

Plum did not look like any Djinn he had ever seen previously.

Smaller than even an amphine goblin, and without legs? He could readily admit he was not an expert on Djinn. He honestly was not sure if they were their own race or were somehow connected to the peoples of the world. And the lore he and Onyx had buried themselves in during their war was wholly inconclusive as to the origins of these beings. All they had figured for sure was how to kill or contain them. That said, upon seeing Plum for the first time, he could only guess as to why she looked so different.

The Djinn he and Onyx had encountered more than thirty years ago were tall, well built, with both arms and legs, but no wings, or tails or any other appendages, clearly having no need of auxiliaries. And their hair was rather normal in appearance, though it always retained a smokey, flowy quality, as if moving through water. And as odd as it felt to take note of it, the fact that something as simple as Plum's hair was so off caused confusion that he had yet to rectify. Unfortunately, with the efforts to assist in the cleanup and construction for the Dark Forest castle, the planning and discussion on cementing their alliance, and everything in between, Dagda was unable to find any time to observe Plum more closely, let alone speak with her. She herself was assisting as well, whether it be physical labor or assistance with growing foodstuffs or architectural planning and scouting, her extra senses coming in handy now that she was free to use them. While her presence had made him nervous, her sheer eagerness and willingness to help calmed his ire.

He had intended to bring her up to Onyx, though; discuss everything he had noted and have him look her over as well and render his opinion on the matter.

Dagda grit his teeth. Never in his life could he remember ever wanting to be wrong about something as much as now.

Because if he was correct about all of this, then he knew better than to think Plum was the mastermind. Despite her strangeness and his reservations, he could see well enough that she was not a threat.

But that meant acknowledging the only obvious candidate.

Dagda's foot slipped against the rock floor as a flair within his mind caught his attention. 'Yes, Rex?'

'Lex is asking me for audience.' Rex's tone was saturated with suspicion.

He nodded. 'Allow it. Let's see what he has to say.'

'Understood.'

Dagda remained motionless in the middle of his office, unease twining further up his spine. He chewed on his lips, arms crossed as he tried to think. All he wanted to do was peak through the link, but he knew Rex would report promptly enough. He sighed, raising his hands and rubbing his tired eyes. "Dammit all-"

"Dad?"

Snapping to attention, he whipped around to his desk.

"Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here," he answered, rounding the desk to sit and grab the scrying mirror. Something about his older daughter's tone did not sit well and he felt it had nothing to do with his personal unease. "What is it, dear," he asked, his fatherly instincts pushing a more business mindset out of the way as he saw her face. Concern immediately drenched his insides as he gripped the edges of the mirror. "What's happened?" Marianne was doing her best to put on a brave front, but he knew his daughter. Even without the red-rimmed eyes and the barest divot of her chin, he could see she had been crying.

She took a deep breath, eyes aimed straight ahead at him as she squared her shoulders. But her lip trembled. Her breath left her in a halted huff. "I…"

His own lungs quickened, and he tilted his head, looking into her eyes. "It's okay," he said softly, "take your time."

That did it.

Marianne closed her lips tight, and her eyes shined over, tears already trying to fall again as she looked away. "Dad… I… I'm sorry," she managed, her voice tight with barely restrained emotion.

Dagda swallowed his nerves. "Sorry about what?" he asked calmly.

"I should have…" she closed her eyes, hanging her head. "At the marshes… there was an attack."

He stopped breathing.

"It was a trap."

His grip on the mirror was painful, his form tense, his wings rigid against his back. "What happened?" he asked quietly.

Marianne sniffled, rubbing the butt of her hand against her nose and covering her mouth. Her watery eyes met his, her face wet with tears. "Things. They were dark. Like they were made of darkness. They didn't make noise, they didn't even move right. They were like animals, but they were intelligent. They fought like they had a plan."

He could not breathe. He could not move. Why… heavens, why…

"They… they took Bog." Marianne looked away again, forming a fist against her mouth. "We followed. Plum led us to where they were. And we found someone? Like her, but not like her?"

Cold seeped into his bones.

"He knew her somehow, knew us, called me 'little flame'… he hurt Bog." She closed her eyes tight, and her visage shook, her grip on the mirror faltering. "He's alive… but it's bad," she whispered.

"What did he call you?" he breathed.

Marianne opened her eyes and looked back at him. "'Little flame.' Like he's been watching me. I don't… I don't know how-"

"Barricade the castle."

"What?"

He stood, grip on the mirror tight, wishing for all the world he could reach through it and hold his daughter. "Get as many as you can in the castle then shut it down. Have warriors at all entrances. Do not attempt to fight again."

"But-"

"The Dark Forest has never faced them and doesn't know what to do. He wasn't trying to kill anyone yet, but now that he's been seen he won't hold back for long-"

"Wait, you-"
"Marianne!"

Her golden amber eyes widened, watching with rapt attention. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush in his veins. "Marianne… I know who it is. And he knows who you are to me."

She shook her head in confusion. "How?"

He clenched his teeth and forced his next words out slowly. "What would the King of Fire produce if not a little flame?"

Realization bloomed across her face.

Dagda nodded. "Marianne. This man is dangerous. The most dangerous being Onyx and I have ever faced. He knows who you are. And he will use you if he can get his hands on you. Please, do as I say," he pleaded, exerting great effort to keep his voice calm.

She nodded, resolve shining through as she sat up.

"I'll be there soon. Make sure Bog's people understand and prepare."

She nodded again and the room around her shifted as she stood.

"Marianne?"

"Yeah?"

"Be strong. Okay?" He could have cursed himself for the brief faulter in his voice. "For you and Bog."
She bit her lip and held his gaze, standing up straight as her wings fluttered behind her. "I will."

His blinked away the stinging in his own eyes. "That's my girl."

Marianne gave a watery smile. "I'll see you soon." Her words sounded almost like a question.

"Yes." He nodded. "I love you."

She nodded back. "I love you too, Dad."

He cut off the connection and lowered the mirror. Only to flare his wings in surprise as Rex looked at him with concern from the open office door. "Wha-"

"I couldn't get through to you on the link," Rex said somberly. "Now I know why."

Dagda lowered his wings slowly, dread gripping his insides. "What news?"

Rex shook his head. "It's Cole."

It was only then that Dagda noticed a distraught Lexenios standing behind Rex.

"He's gone."

xXx

If he were a lesser being, he would have allowed a triumphant smile at such an outburst. However, this boy was no different than any other individual who had ever played into his hands. Though, his passion was refreshing.

"This is NOT how we planned it! Why did you do this!?" Prince Cole yelled, his outrage beautifully brought to life as he paced the dirt and rock room. He was no longer glamoured, his unique wings standing on end as he ran clawed hands through his hair, growling out his anger with every circuit. "I TOLD you I was speaking with him, I TOLD you to wait for me-"

"Your highness," Ta'Kheta eased, putting on a face of concern. "I am quite capable of listening, but now I need you to listen to me."
"You've already told me everything!" Cole shouted, rounding on him. "What more could you have to say?" he snarled, clawing the air.

"He refused," Ta'Kheta whispered with an air of sorrow. "My lord, he refused your offer. He spat his distain into my face and insulted your name. What else would you have had me do?"

"Ta'Kheta, you took his people and captured him like a prisoner!" Cole accused. "How did you think he was going to react?"

The Djinn tilted his head and crossed his arms. "I needed to capture his attention. Clearly, he was occupied elsewhere and even speaking with you was going over his head. And you realize I did not harm anyone during the process, not even him."

"A threatening action is STILL a threatening action regardless of injury!" Cole gripped his hair once more and continued his pacing. "Did you lose the knowledge of political tact during your time in that bubble?"

Ta'Kheta let out a small huff, deciding to let that comment slide. "You don't need him."

"Yes, I DO!" Cole exploded, rounding on him once again. "He is living proof! And he's suffered just like we have – the whole bloody history of it all is backed up by his very existence! We've been chained like beasts our whole lives, beaten and broken and stood up like puppets for a show to perform again and again and again," Cole gripped his hair again, his face contorted as he clenched his eyes shut and curled into himself, "trotted around on shattered bones and bloodied skin covered with their costumes and speaking their words and swallowing their torture like good little slaves…"
Ta'Kheta watched intently as the prince spiraled.

"… And now… now that I'm THIS close to tearing them to pieces," crystal blue eyes burning with fury turned up to him and a vicious snarl bared sharp fangs, "you just had to throw all of my planning to the FIRE!"

In a mere blink, Ta'Kheta had Cole pinned against the wall. Both the prince's wrists were engulfed in one hand, his other squeezing his angular jaw as he pressed his larger body against the smaller man, holding him tightly in place. "My prince," he breathed, barely touching his nose to Cole's as he leaned in too close. "Calm yourself."

The sheer indignation and rage boiling from his eyes and through their link was delightful, and the deep-throated growl the prince emanated was as sweet as honey.

Ta'Kheta smiled. "Please listen… I know you want to blame me, but I do not rightly deserve it. The blame… lies with them," he sneered. He flashed through the link images of King Dagda, Princess Marianne, and the Bog King. "I've been with you through this whole process. Heard your plight and your pleas… I've been listening." He touched his forehead to Cole's, loosing his grip over the prince's jaw by a fraction. "But they… they haven't so much as lent a stray glance. They cannot see… and even after you speak your piece," he flashed the image of the Bog King glaring, wings flared and leveling his staff, as seen through Cole's own eyes, "they refuse to hear you."

Cole's breathing became heavier, and he sensed desperation through their link.

"They don't understand," he whispered, mentally as much as physically. "They don't want to understand." He flashed images of all of them, staring blankly, cold and emotionless, before turning and walking away into the mindscape. He could feel the burning in Cole's eyes, see the shine building, even as he tried to free his wrists. He could sense the weakly flickering desire that these words had to be wrong, certainly these people would not look away. He impressed the harshness of such an eventuality, thrust it forward like a spear flying true. "But we don't need them. It's alright," he soothed. He pushed his body harder against him on the wall, wrapping his arm over Cole's as he kept his hold on his wrists, sending through the impression of a shield covering him on a battlefield. "Remember, we do what we must the way we do, otherwise we risk the wise as foolish fodder." Tears finally broke free and ran down Cole's face. Ta'Kheta released his grip of the prince's jaw altogether, sliding his fingers to wrap around into his hair, resting his palm to his cheek. He wiped a tear as it trailed to his thumb. "Remember your wisdom, one of your most precious gifts." He locked his gaze with Cole's as the prince blinked through watery eyes. "Remember why you do this. Remember our goal," he murmured, sending through the image he knew would hit Cole's heart with the most meaning.

It worked.

He let his smile ring with gentleness as he felt resolve hardening in the prince's heart.

"Yes… of course," Cole managed, his voice thick as he nodded.

"And you have me," Ta'Kheta cooed. "We will not fail."

"Exactly," Cole breathed.

"Exactly." Ta'Kheta moved away a fraction, looking deep into Cole's eyes. "I promised you, didn't I?" He smirked. "They will suffer."

Cole lowered his head, his fire igniting once more. "Yes. They will."

"And we will relish their pain," Ta'Kheta uttered.

"They will beg," Cole whispered, his anger seeping into his mind.

"And they will burn," Ta'Kheta goaded, stepping back.

"And I will not set them free," Cole hissed through clenched teeth, voice trembling.

Ta'Kheta could not help a laugh of pure malice, releasing his hold on Cole's wrists and neck. He rested his hands on either side of the prince's head as he backed away further to lean down, bringing his face level. "No," he agreed. "They will suffer long for what they have done."

"And I will enjoy every minute of it," Cole growled, stepping away from the wall to snarl nose-to-nose at Ta'Kheta, fists clenched at his sides, indigo blood seeping from between his fingers.

The Djinn grinned wide, relishing the deep-seated fury stoking further into frothing self-righteous rage that poured in from their link. "So will I, my prince."

If he were a lesser being, he might have had to work at hiding his excitement. But as it was, his tool was too far blinded to notice how misplaced it really was. So, he allowed a laugh, deep and dark from the depths of his being.

"So will I."

Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*