Author's Note
Disclaimer: I do not, in fact, own Tin Man or any of its original characters. I DO own the manic little plot demon who is currently running around my head and tearing up grocery lists, Christmas lists, and anything remotely creative that is unrelated to this story... for your benefit, I might add. Hopefully, I'll keep him and you fed long enough to survive the holidays, or at least Friday.
If I don't make it out alive, I leave all of my uneaten stories to him. Someone will have to feed him. And name him. I haven't gotten to that yet.
Cheers!
-White Rabbit
Chapter Fourteen
The alley which Wyatt found himself in was shadowed on both sides by tall, crumbling ruddy brick structures, which climbed to the earthen roof of the Realm, only stopping where the roots of some massive grove of trees above feathered their cornices tauntingly. Although the shadows thrown onto this space were more than adequate to shield Wyatt from most prying eyes, he'd decided to conceal himself even further, by ducking into the alcove of the older building, where he seemed to disappear into the inky darkness of the unused doorstep, partially obscured by an overfull dumpster and a heap of broken packing crates. Wyatt's nose twitched unhappily as a breeze wafted in his direction, making it difficult to ignore the putrid smell rising from the nearby bin. Wyatt grunted, imagining some poor creature expiring within the confines of the rusted container, and fighting the urge to retreat from his hiding spot. Although he'd been planted here for hours, he knew it was only a matter of time before Vizor showed up, and there was no chance he'd lose him this time. He'd just have to ignore the smell, and his aching feet with the knowledge that what he'd gain would be worth the discomfort.
All the same, Wyatt reasoned that this had to be the worst stakeout he had ever been on. At least when he'd been a Tin Man, he could count on his partner to help him pass the time. Paul Manzetti was a lot of things but being boring wasn't one of them. Paul and Wyatt had both formed a fast reputation with the ranks of the Tin Men for being exacting officers and excelled at detective work for their attention to detail and strong stomachs. The two men also shared a certain pride in a job well done, as well as a strict adherence to their personal code of ethics. From here, their personalities diverged, and in some ways, the rough-edged city cop was everything Wyatt was not; loud, foul mouthed, and gregarious, to name a few traits. Wyatt often joked that Paul was so congenial that he could probably make a papay runner roll over for a belly rub without even having to say please. That being the case, it shouldn't have surprised the ex-Tin Man that Paul made such a good politician. He was practically made for the position. Wyatt shifted slightly and leaned his head against the back wall of the alcove, allowing a smirk to crack his stony expression for just a moment; the truth was, he missed the bastard, and despite the discomfort he currently felt, he actually missed being a cop as well.
Wyatt shook himself out of his thoughts – now wasn't the time for reminiscing. Wyatt straightened himself up – with a quick shake of the shoulders and low rumble in the back of his throat to dislodge the smile that had glimmered only briefly to be replaced by his mouth's usual hardened line – and stepped closer to the edge of the alcove, where he could get a closer view of Ma Demilo's stall while his shoulder rested on the crumbling brick. The woman's stall was a little like a carnival booth and was heavily laden on all sides with brightly twinkling colored lights. Their brightness was almost a distraction, and Wyatt had to wince somewhat to get past their glare. If this wasn't bad enough, the street on which the vibrantly lit stall sat was considerably trafficked today, almost like he'd stumbled upon some holiday market, and scores of people bustled this way and that, obscuring his view of the woman's counter and elevating his already stressfully high sense of urgency. Wyatt continued to resist the urge to emerge from his shadowed stoop, and instead craned his neck to spy visitors as the came and went from the booth.
Most that patronized the Ma Demilo's operation were forgettable though, and Wyatt shrugged them away the moment they appeared, letting his eyes move back to their constant scan of the humming organism that was the constantly moving crowd of underside dwellers. The people of the Realm were an odd sort. Either their garb was colorful and flamboyant, leaning towards the highly sexualized or absurd, or they were so drab in their appearance that one would have thought them an extension of the earthen world. There was never an in-between with this bunch, so it was a surprise to see anyone semi-normal looking milling about amongst the locals. This was why, when a familiar-looking brunette, sporting a leather jacket and a pair of worn pair of dungarees, caught his attention. Wyatt pushed off the brick and made to move out of his hiding space, seething quietly as his eyes narrowed on the woman, like a bird of prey homing in on his target. She was moving quickly, to be sure, and Wyatt had to move fast.
"What the hell is she doing here," Wyatt growled under his breath, just as he reached the throngs of people at the threshold of the alley.
He was bumped though and paused to glance at the obstruction. A man, a few heads shorter than himself for his visibly hunched shoulders, had shoved past the lawman without a thought while moving swiftly towards his own destination. He wore a cloak of rich, chocolate brown, and his face was obscured by the shadows created by the cloak that hung over his head. He was moving away from Wyatt almost too quickly for one so handicapped, which caused Wyatt to watch, and the longer he looked on, the more his alarm grew. It soon became clear that the man's destination was the same as his, but he was much closer now, and stood a good chance of reaching the woman that so resembled his own wife, that he swore it had to be DG. Wyatt's heart seemed to thud loudly, like a war drum calling him to battle, and he began to surge forward, forgetting his prior goal. A scream in the other direction stopped him however, and his head whipped around on instinct.
"Thief! Stop!" Ma DeMilo had bellowed out, her hands raised in alarm as she yelled shrilly.
She waved frantically at Wyatt, desperate for his attention, and when she felt she'd gotten it, she gestured pointedly at a dark man, scurrying away hurriedly from her shop in the other direction from the DG doppelganger. Wyatt's jaw hardened as he considered, in a fraction of a moment, which way to go. On the one hand, there was his mission. On the other hand, was a woman who looked remarkably like his wife, who might or might not be in danger. Was she DG? He didn't know, but he had to believe that she couldn't be, which meant that the man approaching her could be anyone. Wyatt huffed irritably, hating both avenues but knowing he had to move quickly in either case, and he turned then to chase Vizor who was quickly being swallowed up by the crowd that seemed to move against Wyatt at every opportunity.
Wyatt's panic was increasing exponentially with every person he shoved out of his way, and every moment that ticked by without even a glint of the man that had absconded from his clutches once again. Then, an unmistakable sound reverberated in his ears, causing him to stop in his tracks, and his breath to still in his throat as he shut his eyes in recognition of the pit that had suddenly grown in the pit of his stomach. He'd only heard DG scream a handful of times in the past two annuals, but even as seldom as DG let loose her particular brand of shrill terror, he'd known its sound anywhere. Wyatt's blood ran cold, and although he dreaded turning to connect the sound of DG's peril with what he could only imagine seeing in his worst nightmare, he knew that there was no other choice now. He'd already lost.
When he turned, a weight seemed to keep his eyes shut, and he had to force them open, feeling all the while that his chest was caving in with the absence of oxygen to hold it up. When he saw what he had feared, his breath came back, although it was shaken and choppy, being punctuated by an involuntary sob that had escaped him in that awful moment. Wyatt didn't know how his feet moved so fast, or where the crowd had suddenly disappeared to, but he swept forward, his shoes echoing on the cobblestones as he ran. The sound was almost as deafening as his heart, suddenly thudding loudly in his ears. Tears were blinding his eyesight, and he swiped furiously at his face as he dropped to his knees before the woman, now unmistakably DG, lying in a crumpled heap on the street, her hair damp from falling into a nearby puddle as she collapsed to the ground. Wyatt gathered his wife in his trembling arms, and he struggled to speak as he gasped and sobbed, wiping the wet strands away from her unmarred face.
"DG, darlin', I'm sorry. Please come back," Wyatt blubbered, pleading with the stark blue eyes that stared blankly skyward, not connecting with anything any longer.
When he realized that she did not see him, a wall seemed to shatter within him, and Wyatt's body shuddered as he let loose a bone-chilling cry of anguish to the cavernous ceiling. There was no consolation in that earthen ceiling, and Wyatt's steel-grey eyes turned back down to the woman in his arms, and he whimpered again before clutching her limp body to his chest, his face now completely soaked with tears. The grief turned quickly to anger so boiling hot though, that Wyatt struggled to let go of his wife. He knew that the moment DG was out of his arms, the man she loved would be gone for good as well, leaving behind someone so fully consumed with a vengeance that had once threatened to eat him alive that there would be no coming back from it. Nonetheless, he did let her go, placing her gently down onto the ancient cobblestones before he again looked up, intent on finding the man that had taken her from him. When he was met with the sight of a small fair-haired child, staring down on him with a set of somber, yet serene crystalline eyes, he was instantly startled, and lost his balance, causing him to sit back onto the cobblestones, looking a little like a scarecrow without his pole for the odd angle of his limbs that seemed to fall around him. He was in for another shock, for DG had suddenly disappeared when he'd sat back, leaving him and the girl to survey each other alone; Wyatt still trembling in grief and shock, and the girl with an odd sort of patience given what she must have seen a moment or two ago.
When Wyatt finally spoke, his voice was strained, and his throat burned as his he'd swallowed cotton, and he choked out, "Who are you?"
The girl's eyebrow raised curiously, and she shifted her silver-slippered foot in the puddle before her when she responded with a question of her own. "Does that really matter right now, Mister Cain?"
Wyatt considered this. Given the odd turn of events, and the fact that he'd just lost his wife and child, he finally came to the conclusion that the girl's identity was probably the least of his problems. "No, I guess not, but I don't understand -" Wyatt faltered, and he struggled with what he really meant to ask her as he stared down at the space where DG had lain. Everything suddenly seemed so surreal. Then it hit him square in the chest, and he took a sharp intake of air before he stated rather than asked roughly, "I'm dreaming, aren't I?"
The girl answered only with a grim smirk and a tight nod, and she held a hand out to him when she spoke again. "Yes Tin Man. You're dreaming about what will happen if you forget your real mission."
Wyatt accepted the girl's hand, and he wasn't the least bit surprised that she was able to pull him up, despite the fact that he was more than twice her size. He stared down on the girl for a moment, suddenly taken with how familiar she seemed all the sudden. Her eyes seemed to bore into him almost like DG's, and she even referred to him in much the same way that she had in the beginning of their relationship. Her very person seemed to dare him to not take her seriously, and somehow, he knew that he'd regret it if he did, for the eerily familiar earnestness of her gaze and the hard set of her jaw told him that she meant business. A smile spread on his face of its own accord, and he was about to respond sardonically when the crowd suddenly reappeared, along with the din created by its presence.
The crowd only phased him for a moment, and when he finally met the girl's eyes once more, he noticed a hint of a smirk on her own face, and he asked, his voice louder now so he could be heard over the crowd, "So what mission is that Princess?" The girl rolled her eyes and allowed her smile to widen, and she shook her head in disbelief before answering. He couldn't hear her for the crowd though, and he barked back, "What? I can't hear you."
When the girl opened her mouth once more, he was surprised to find that she spoke with Jeb's voice, calling out above the crowd, "Dad, wake up!"
Wyatt's eyes popped open. At the same moment, he sprung to his feet, pistol already cocked and ready in his hand. His eyes, though glassy and somewhat unfocused for having just woken up, were wild and wide, and he surveyed his surroundings as if expecting imminent danger. It took a moment for his brain to click into gear and his breathing to slow, and he finally noticed Jeb standing nearby, his hands out in a non-threatening fashion and his eyes wide with his own form of astonishment.
"Dad, it's okay! You're in the hut," Jeb explained calmly, stepping closer to his father slowly and reaching a hand out to his father, hoping to ease him out of his threatening posture.
Wyatt's shoulders dropped and he took a deep breath while he holstered his weapon, and he met his son's eyes, his own looking sad and apologetic. "I'm sorry son. Just a little jumpy, I guess."
Sensing that it was safe, Jeb laid a hand on his father's shoulder and, while letting out a sigh of relief, he offered his father a sympathetic smile. In this moment, Wyatt finally allowed himself to take in his surroundings, and after returning Jeb's weak smile, his eyes darted from Jeb to the room in which they stood. The suns had moved over to the west since he was last awake and were quickly setting, judging by the amber light bleeding in from the roof of the hut. This was a weak light though, barely adding to the ambiance of the place. The primary source of light now came from a fire that had been newly lit in the hearth and was throwing its own warm light on the scene, making Jeb's face glow and the worried crinkles at the edges of his eyes stand out. Then Cain realized, with some embarrassment, that they were not alone. At some point during Wyatt's odd dream, they had been joined by Artie, and he sat by the fire with Ahamo, and both men had stopped their conversation to watch the interaction between Wyatt and Jeb, their interest veiled and covered over with a kind of passive understanding that only men who'd experienced similar hauntings could. Wyatt was grateful for this, and accepted Artie's nod in greeting, and allowed Jeb to lead him over to the group, sitting himself down amongst them while he unburdened himself with a loud huff.
Wyatt's head was still a jumble, and he was thankful that his companions seemed to carefully avoid asking him about his dream, since he wasn't completely sure what had happened himself. Wyatt settled on a stool close to the fire and stared at the flames, struggling to hold together the pieces of his dream and make some sense of it, and his eyes reflected this, appearing stormy and worried in the light of the fire. While around him, the other men resumed their previous activities in a deliberate attempt to offer the man privacy. Ahamo had apparently made a dinner, and began doling out mugs full of stew, a pipe perched precariously on his lips as he did so. Artie, meanwhile, was regaling Jeb with stories of the Otherside, keeping the young man enrapt with descriptions of the first moon landing, and the subsequent visits to the heavens that had occurred since. Once everyone had their mugs in hand though, the conversation petered out, and all became silent as they chewed quietly on their meals.
Wyatt allowed himself to get lost in thought during this quiet interlude and replayed the images from his nightmare – if he could call it that – while he chewed slowly. The memory of DG's body, cold and limp in his arms, made the hairs stand up on the back of head. It was her eyes that truly haunted him though, and he fought a shudder at the thought of their empty stare. The small girl was a curious addition to his dreamscape, unlike anything he'd ever experienced, and he wondered if she was truly of his imaginings or perhaps some odd interloper into his thoughts. He had had many dreams over the years, to be certain, and his most vivid had come in the days after being released from the iron prison. Memories of his torture and imprisonment would come back to him in technicolor on most nights, only to be replaced by the imaginings of Adora's death once it had been confirmed by the crude grave behind the white elm. He'd never been given any foresight though, or otherworldly message, and he grimaced as his suspicions grew. Wyatt might have continued on in this fashion indefinitely if he had been allowed, but as he continued to consider the young girl and the potential message implied in the overall dream, the other men were finishing their meals, and had begun to discuss the events of the day, recapping in preparation for the operation to be set in motion on the next day.
"Dad, I went back to the settlement an hour or so ago. We received a dispatch from the Army. They'll be here by midnight. I let the stableman know so he'd be ready," Jeb announced to his father and the others, drawing Wyatt out of his thoughts.
Wyatt cleared his throat, feeling that it had grown dry for its lack of use in speaking, and rested his elbows on his knees as he spoke, "Good, we'll meet them at the livery stables and give them their orders as soon as they get here. I want a small extraction team to go down with us, and another topside saddled up and ready to go when we come out with Vizor." It occurred to Wyatt that his tone was slightly more business-like than he had intended for the still unsettled nature of his mind, and his tone softened somewhat as he tried to compensate, turning his attention to Artie to ask quietly, "Any luck with that item I requested?"
Artie's bushy eyebrow raised expectantly, and without breaking eye contact with Wyatt, he reached down to grasp his bag, opening it as he answered cryptically, "Indeed, Mr. Cain, indeed. You'll find everything you need in this bag." He paused to hand a simple, burlap sack to Wyatt. When Wyatt attempted to retrieve the bag, finding Artie still firmly affixed to it, Artie added with a raise of his bushy eyebrow, "I expect that you'll contact me to return it when this is over and done with?"
Wyatt and Artie exchanged a knowing look, and Wyatt returned darkly, "Don't worry Artie, I won't forget you. When the time comes, I'll contact you. Just keep your dance card open and be ready when I send the signal."
Artie released his grip on the bag with a long, slow release of air and a resigned nod, replying, "I'll be ready General." He then handed his mug to Ahamo, who accepted it silently. When Artie then slapped his knees and stood, the sound reverberated on the stone walls, effectively catching the attention of all assembled so he could proclaim loudly, "Gentlemen, I take my leave of you now. Good luck to you all, and may we meet again along the Old Road."
Wyatt stood with Artie and shook his hand firmly, and he walked with him to the outer wall of the room so he could mutter conspiratorially, "You be careful, Artie, I don't think this is going to go as smoothly as we'd like. I'd lay odds on it, in fact."
Artie nodded seriously and replied, "A wise man once said, never tell me the odds, General. Just be safe."
Wyatt nodded in agreement and released the man's hand, watching as he stepped closer to the wall. The brass knob was quickly extracted from his bag, and after affixing it to the wall, he turned to offer a final wave. Then, he disappeared behind the door, leaving the other three men watching in resigned silence. Wyatt stared down at the bag left in his custody, feeling the weight of responsibility hanging over him like a dark shroud. The voice that had bothered him before was back, screaming now that things would very likely go bad, and they would be handing over the one item that their enemy had been seeking in his quest to bring doom on Wyatt's burgeoning family and on the OZ as a whole.
As if Wyatt's dark frame of mind had lifted itself out of the hut and transmitted itself to DG over the leagues between Lake Lurline, far in the south, and Central City in the center of the realm, DG paused in her march down the wide carpeted hall. It felt as if an icy breeze had passed over her, and one might have said that she'd felt someone walking over her own grave. DG, at one time, might not have given that notion much thought, but after the events of the past two annuals, she found herself feeling more and more receptive to such superstitions. As she considered the foreboding that washed over her in a wave, she stared off blankly, only shaking herself free when Gates' voice broke her concentration, sounding quiet and concerned.
"Are you alright, Milday?" Gates asked in a hush, standing just to her left and close enough that they could speak without being overheard.
DG physically shook herself and turned to Gates, answering absently, "Hum? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." Then she paused to remember where she had been going, feeling a Wyatt-like sense of caution growing in the pit of her stomach. "Gates, are Tutor, Raw and Glitch still planning on hanging out tonight? I mean, I know I cancelled on them and all, but are they still – "
"Gathering you mean?" Gates cut in, adding with a nod, "Yes ma'am, in the library, just as you'd all planned. I think they hoped you'd change your mind after you got a bit o' rest, since Master Raw is leaving soon, and all."
DG chewed on her lower lip and considered the information Gates divulged, and her brow furrowed suddenly when she asked suspiciously, "I thought Glitch and Az were making it an early night. What gives Green Giant?"
Gates ignored DG's odd form of address and asked his own question instead, his armed folding in front of his chest as he looked down on her appraisingly, "Now Princess, would ya have gone to your quarters if they hadn't told you they were leavin' as well? I don't think they'd be real good family if they didn't try to do what's best for ya. Don't cha?"
DG cocked her head sideways, mulling silently over the thoughts racing through her brain, and she tapped her foot on the carpet while she chewed on her lip. Then suddenly, her sight cleared, and she looked up at Gates, allowing a full-blown grin to brighten her face as she looked up at the man briefly before she whipped around suddenly and called back to him, "Well what are you waiting for, Gates, let's go!"
Far from disappointed by her family's well-meaning deception, DG was thrilled. Given her bath time revelation, and the knowledge that time was growing short, there were only a few people that she could confide in that might be able to offer some form of assistance. Given that they all seemed to be gathered in one place at that very moment, DG felt that her timing could not be any more fortuitous. The princess was so driven that she sprinted down the hall, leaving Gates behind only briefly before he closed the distance, puffing steadily behind her in otherwise silent acceptance until they neared the oaken doors of the library. DG grinned maniacally at the sight of Azkadellia's guards, standing wide eyed but firm at the threshold of the doors, and they struggled to maintain their composure as the whirlwind princess and her own guard approached.
"Hey guys!" DG announced herself with intentional informality, delighting in ruffling the overly serious men, and winking impishly at Gates, who'd stopped just behind her. The men maintained their composure though and responded with polite nods as they opened the doors for the princess. As DG stepped through the doors, she called back to Gates, "Make sure we're not bothered, okay fellas?"
"Yes Ma'am," Gates and the others replied, shutting the doors noiselessly behind DG as they did.
Before DG had burst in on the small band of friends within the library, it had been a rather mellow gathering. Azkadellia had taking to embroidering a sampler as she lounged on the settee near the cheerfully lit fireplace. Her pale green dress fell fluidly around her legs, and her feet were bare on the cushion, tapping the air while she noiselessly recounted a tune she'd recently remembered from her childhood. Ambrose, meanwhile, had engaged Tutor and Raw in a game of cards, and the men were seriously considering their individual hands at a card table set up near the large sitting window behind Azkadellia. Ambrose had discarded his court coat, and had unbuttoned the uppermost buttons of his crisp, white shirt, letting his vest hang open as he leaned over the table. He was fiddling with a curl as he considered his position, and he eyed Raw and Tutor suspiciously over the top of his hand, desperately determined that he would outsmart either of them in their game of strategy. Raw had a mixture of serenity and humor plastered on his furry face, and he struggled not to smirk at the advisor, who had so far lost two matches to him, and was in serious danger of it once more. Tutor appeared wholly unaffected and downright leisurely and had also discarded his coat. As the game marched on, he had taken to leaning back in his chair, and periodically shook his head in amused disbelief at the other two, allowing a good-natured scoff to escape him when Ambrose would decry some move made by the viewer.
Raw was done playing though, sensing the approach of the younger princess, and he laid down his hand for the table to see with a satisfied smile. His eyes moved between the two men to gauge their reactions, and grinned wide when Ambrose groaned, throwing his cards down as he exclaimed in exasperation, "Aw, come on Furry Lips, can't you let a guy win just once?"
"Glitch know he can't bluff Raw," Raw responded with a put upon sigh, to which Tutor chuckled, dropping his own cards on the table.
Ambrose gathered the cards and began to shuffle them, grumbling quietly as he did so, "Well I still have to try, don't I?"
The advisor had only managed to dole out a few cards before the doors swung open, and DG breezed in. All heads looked up at once at her entrance, to which DG grinned back, addressing Azkadellia directly the moment the doors were shut behind her, "Az, let's blow some bubbles."
Azkadellia's eyes narrowed and she sat up as she asked cautiously, "Are you sure, little sister?"
DG nodded resolutely, to which the elder princess shrugged, replying as she stood and crossed to her sister, "Okay then, but you've got to take a break after this, Deeg."
"You have my solemn oath," DG replied, taking her sister's hands as she neared.
By herself, DG could erect a small sound bubble just large enough for two people to stand in. This had drained her somewhat the night before, and even if she had been in perfect condition, she knew that it would have been impossible for her to silence an entire room. Fortunately for DG, Azkadellia's addition into their gathering was a lucky happenstance that she was more than happy to take advantage of, and before any more could be said at her arrival, she was eager to get the job done. Azkadellia understood, of course, and so the two women came together without too much trouble to see the task done. They spoke in a hushed dreamlike voice, almost as one person while their eyes shut tight and their hand remained tightly clasped with the other. Meanwhile, the ambient sounds – the bustle of people in the square two stories below the large window, and even the crackling fire in the grate – quieted, and the air became noticeably still. The women opened their eyes to look on the other, Azkadellia's appearing concerned while she surveyed her sister. DG only swayed for a moment before she took a deep breath and smiled, nodding encouragingly to her sister before she dropped their hands.
"I'm alright Az," DG whispered before they both rounded on the men, who had moved closer to the pair, all now seated near the fireplace except the worried looking viewer, who stood nearby, waiting to catch DG if needed.
Tutor had taken an armchair, while Ambrose had taken over Azkadellia's space, and both waited in patient anticipation as if two annuals hadn't already passed, and they were still on a hunt for the Emerald. Once Azkadellia had joined Ambrose, leaving DG with Raw– who helped her to her own armchair closest to the fire before he seated himself on the floor nearby – all eyes were on the youngest Princess, all holding their breath for what they sensed would be an important conversation.
"Okay little sister," Azkadellia announced loudly, "this had better be good, or I'll have a hard time explaining to Mother why I just let you do that."
Raw growled low in agreement, and DG reached down to squeeze his hand in reassurance before she settled more comfortably in the chair and replied, "I think I have a way to get past our spy." She paused dramatically then and continued in question, "Do any of you know if there anything left in the palace from Ozma's time, like a mirror or picture frame?"
Ambrose scoffed and smiled, muttering sarcastically, "You don't need us Dollface, what you're looking for is a museum curator." When DG eyed him curiously and Tutor coughed suggestively, Ambrose blustered and added, "but maybe."
DG looked from Tutor to Ambrose, a look of accusation growing on her face. Instead, though, she turned to her sister, whose face was screwed into a thoughtful frown, and seemed to be lost in thought while others conferred. "Az, do you have something to add?"
"I don't know Deeg," Azkadellia replied in slow, thoughtful reflection, "if there was anything of use in any of the royal palaces, the Sorceress had it removed ages ago. I doubt there's anything left here now unless it was purely ornamental. Why?"
DG explained her discovery to her friends, outlining the images within the book given to her by Azkadellia just hours before, and finishing with the interesting vision and tight scribbles within the pages of the volume afterwards. Tutor had been listening to the entire description in utter silence, while a finger remained pursed to his lips and his eyes narrowed in concentration.
When DG had finished her explanation, the man let out a pensive "humph," followed by a thoughtful theory. "I don't know if what we're being spied on with is some magical picture frame or not, seeing as I'm no expert in enchanted objects, but there may be something to this fog idea." DG shot a quizzical look in his direction and he expounded further after uttering a loud sigh, "DG, do you remember when I was trying to help you break through your memories?"
DG chewed on her lip and blushed, replying, "uh yeah, it's a little hard to forget having fevered dreams Tutor, but I'm not sure I'm following you here."
Tutor sat forward in his chair and fixed her with a stern steady look in his chocolate brown eyes, "Think DG, Think. Remember what you saw in your visions before the fevered dreams? You said that any time you got close to the images in your dreams, they seemed to dissipate – "
"Like smoke, yeah I remember," DG interrupted, and her brow was still furrowed in confusion when she asked, "but what does this have to do with getting past our spy?"
Azkadellia suddenly burst out with a bright laugh, and she jumped up suddenly, pacing as she voiced her sudden clarity of vision, "Deeg! Come on, it's so easy," She stopped and glanced at Raw and withdrew in slight embarrassment, "at least it is for me."
Something passed between the viewer and the elder princess – a certain understanding and, on Azkadelia's part, guilt. Her face had grown pink, and her eyes suddenly averted, as if she was afraid of offending him, and it wasn't until Raw spoke that she seemed to relax.
"Azkadellia see what Sorceress see. Know that when viewers can't see, there is only fog." Raw explained sagely, which earned nods of understanding from Tutor and Azkadellia, and more confused looks from DG.
DG did little to hide her lack of understanding, and replied in a sarcastic tone, waving her hand before her so as to encourage more explanation, "And that means what exactly? Still catching up on my magic lessons, remember? A little help here?"
"Yeah, and I might not be a zipperhead any longer, but I'm still completely lost here," Ambrose chimed in, earning him a delighted grin from DG and a sympathetic pat on the thigh from his wife.
Tutor sighed in response, and took a moment to mull over his response before he finally answered, "DG, you remember how your mother's magic kept Lilo and you out –"
"Yeah, fog, I know, but isn't that just a manifestation of the spell she placed on my memories?" DG cut in.
Tutor shook his head resolutely, a smile forming on his otherwise passive face when he replied, "In that case, yes, but real fog has also been known to interfere with viewers and other seers as well."
"So, if this guy is using magic to spy on us, we can use this, right?" DG asked, her own face brightening with her own growing understanding.
"I don't see how Deeg," Azkadellia scoffed, "it would hardly be practical to shroud ourselves in mist all the time."
"Well, not all the time," Ambrose pondered aloud, adding when the others turned to hear more, "maybe just long enough to make him think you're not a threat anymore. I hear that Finaqua's a little impassable lately, maybe we could, I don't know, take a little trip."
DG popped up from her seat, grinning brightly as she exclaimed, "Glitch, you're brilliant!" She skipped across the floor to her friend, and placed a peck on his check before she rose once more and continued, "We'll give it a codeword, and when I say it, that's just what I want you to do, okay?"
Ambrose flashed DG a dimpled smile and nodded, offering, "Clearwater it is, Princess. Just say the word."
DG nodded back before she turned to her sister, and she knelt down before her as she grasped her hand, and she spoke softly, "It'll be okay, Az. I promise."
Azkadellia's head dipped, and a singular tear escaped her eye before she replied, "I know little sister," her head raised once more, and her green eyes sparkled when she smiled, saying brightly, "I'm proud of you, Deeg. I'm just worried. Can we at least let this barrier down now so you can get some rest? I have a bad feeling that you're going to need it."
DG released her hand and nodded back as she raised herself back up. In that instant, the fire crackled back into audible existence, and the sound of a breeze buffeting the windowpanes made themselves known, signaling that the two princesses had released their hold on the spell keeping their meeting private.
"Well guys, I'm off to bed," DG announced brightly before she paused to yawn loudly.
Relief coursed through DG's body as a result of her brief visit with her friends, and with such a release, fatigue was quickly beginning to creep up on the young woman once more. While she stood before them all, her limbs felt suddenly heavy, and her eyes burned with the strong urge to shut. She maintained her balance with little effort though, and although it was a small consolation that they all took to heart, Raw was still quick to offer his assistance to his young friend. Soon after DG had risen from her short interchange with Azkadellia, the viewer had risen as well, and stood apart from DG until she announced her departure. At that point, the viewer quickly stepped in, and quietly waved goodnight to the rest in attendance as he guided DG out. DG, for her part, was extremely grateful, and rested her hand on the soft arm of the kind viewer, and she smiled dopily and waved as they exited the room.
Raw moved DG down the hall at a smooth pace, with Gates following silently in their wake. Although she'd put on a brave face for her sister, he could sense the Princess' disquiet and silent plea for his particular brand of assistance. When they'd left everyone behind, he finally spoke, and it was in a low rumble, barely audible outside their small circle, "DG want to ask Raw something?"
DG stopped, and she met his eyes with a certain seriousness that he hadn't seen from her since their siege of the tower. Knowing that she would be requested something of grave importance, the viewer held her gaze, despite his natural inclination to avert his eyes, and DG replied in a voice of grave seriousness, "Yes Raw. I need you to stay close to me for the next few days. I'm worried about draining myself, and I don't know what that might do to me or the baby. I didn't want to say anything in front of Az, because if she knew how I was feeling, she'd never to agree to anything we've talked about doing. Will you do it?"
Raw offered DG a soft smile, and he patted her hand while he nodded in acceptance, replying simply, "Raw stay. Protect DG and baby. Princess never have to ask."
DG smiled in return and threw her arms around the man's neck, and she muttered against his fur, "Thank you Raw, I think I needed to hear that."
As much as DG had needed to hear those words from the viewer, he had wanted to say them. Never one to impose, Raw would never have pressured the Princess to accept his presence, and all the gifts that came with him. It was a great relief that he didn't have to grapple with that possibility, and it was a small consolation for the task that he felt he would be given in the coming days. The Princess would be putting her body under a great deal of strain in the coming days and would need his support as well as his healing abilities. Although he sensed that DG had some inkling of the grave circumstances she was facing, judging by the tone of her request, she could not know – could not see – the dark clouds forming on the horizon that were already making their steady march towards them. Raw could, of course, and they filled him with a cold dread that he hadn't felt since the dark days of the Sorceress.