Well, lookit this, a new chapter! Okay, things I don't own: Pepsi, all
Pepsi trademarks, flying horses (I gave the pegasus in this feathery wings
instead of Tamora Pierce's favoured bat wings because they're prettier with
feathers- DON'T LAUGH! It makes sense because of the owner of the horse!),
and Velvet Empire's Frontin' On Me. Which is good because if I owned that
song I would most likely hunt down the band and insert said song into a
part of their anatomy normally covered with cloth. D I made Kel sing it
merely because I felt like being contrary. Now, then, on with this whole
mess.
CHAPTER TWO: THE ARRIVAL
Joren took a long swig from the Pepsi bottle in his hand, only to discover it was empty. Scowling, he tossed it onto the road behind him. A trail of identical bottles stretched as far as the eye could see where he had rode.
He studied the map in his hand, glanced at the Olorun, studied the map some more, glanced at the Olorun, studied the map, glanced at the Olorun, and then turned the map right side up. He scowled once more, tugging on his reins so that his horse would stop, then slipped from the saddle and sat down, gloomily opening a fresh bottle of Pepsi.
Five days now he had been on the road. Five days and apparently he was no closer to his goal. (Most people wouldn't be frustrated by this, as it took a week to reach the place where he could reach his goal; however, Joren was an impatient sort.) His hand went to the pouch at his waist, touching the toupee within.
"I could destroy Keladry," he muttered to himself. "I could do it today, if I could just travel fast enough! I wish-"
His horse, grazing nearby, looked up as a shadow passed over her, then screamed and bolted downriver. Joren barely had time to think ::Curse it all to Bright Mithros!:: before the being that had cast the shadow landed before him.
It was another horse, but a magnificent stallion. His coat was as soft as velvet, its colours subtly shading from deep rose to shadowy violet to misty silver, with a pair of wings like feathered rainbows sprouting from his shoulders. His bones were fine and delicate; his cloven gold hooves shone with a gentle light. He was absolutely beautiful.
Joren hated him on sight.
"Do you wish to travel, my son?" asked the stallion in a voice as soft and a summer's breeze, the words carrying to the page with the rose-like scent of the stallion's breath.
"Of course," snarled Joren. "Why ELSE would I be on the road?"
The stallion frowned. "There is no need to be rude, my son," he said sternly. "I will transport you to your destination, if you-"
"You want me to ride on *you*?" Joren demanded. "I don't think so! What if someone saw me? My testosterone-driven illusions of sexist grandeur would be destroyed!"
The stallion glared at him. "I was sent to help you," he snapped, his voice not at all soft now. "If you don't believe me, take a look at the map!"
Joren glanced at the map again.
Trust him, read the writing appearing at the top. He will help you.
"Bah," muttered the page under his breath as he climbed onto the back of the stallion. "I HATE pink. It clashes with my tuni- I mean, it's unmanly. Yeah. That's what I meant. Unmanly. Feminine. Girly. All that stuff. Yeah."
The stallion, naturally, was ignoring him completely and had already taken off.
They remained in the air for almost an hour. Most people would be astonished that the horse could turn what was normally a two-day ride into an hour or so of travel, but as was mentioned before, Joren was an impatient sort.
"Fast-errr," he whined, tugging on the stallion's mane. For good measure, he gave the winged beast a good kick. He (the horse, not Joren) reared in midair, the violent kick startling him into forgetting to flap his wings for a split second.
It was enough. The stallion dropped like a stone, his wings going like a crazed hummingbird's, so that he just managed to skim the tops of the grassy fields beneath him. All the while, Joren screamed bloody murder.
"Calm down, my son," said the stallion, sounding a little frazzled. "We are safe."
"Safe?! Sa- oh." Joren looked around and stopped screaming.
They came in time to a castle, its walls of crystal reflecting the sunset's rich colours and light so that it was almost too bright to look at. Behind it loomed a dark forest, its shadows barely touching the building before it. The stallion drifted down before it, trotting a short way up the pebbled causeway to the great gates. Upon seeing them, Joren hopped down from the stallion's back and lay a hand on the knocker. It was silver, shaped like a woman's face with a ring inserted in the mouth.
::Beware, mortal,:: said a voice inside Joren's head. ::Knock only if you truly wish for what you seek, and know this- only those who are pure of heart may enter here.::
"Really?" Joren asked it, awed in spite of himself.
There was a very short pause, then, ::No,:: the voice replied. ::It sounds impressive, though, doesn't it? Well, don't just stand there, come on in.::
And with that the doors opened, revealing long halls, columned in marble and floored in glass. Chandeliers, hard to see because of the height of the domed ceiling, hung overhead, reflecting the dim light. It was a hushed and majestic place, a place where you immediately wanted to whisper and tiptoe. And so Joren, being Joren, stomped.
"Gently, my son," whispered the stallion behind him. "Our mistress does not wish to be disturbed."
::Oh, it's alright once in a while,:: said the voice in Joren's head. ::As long as the disturber's cute. Turn left now, please, First door to your right, you can't miss it.::
It was indeed hard to miss, the door in question being shaped like a kittycat. Joren dubiously opened it and found himself in a large, round room. The floor was covered in a deep pink rug, as thick and soft as forest moss. The golden cages overhead held exotic birds of song, and soft couches overflowed with tasselled cushions. The air was sweetly perfumed. It made Joren feel rather sick.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" said the voice that had been in his head cheerfully. Joren whirled around to find himself facing a gorgeous stranger.
************************************************************************
Jon gazed deep into the scrying crystal, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he saw in it. Was it Joren on the back of that winged horse, or some wayward princess? Personally, Jon had never been able to tell the difference. He shrugged- it probably didn't matter- and straightened, wincing as his neck audibly cracked. A glance around the room told him everything was in order. No lamps were lit- he found it easier to scry in the dark- the door was still locked, and the bag of marshmallows he had been eating was still sitting on his bed. He reached inside it and pulled one out, stuffing it in his mouth.
"Keladry of Mindelan," he said to the crystal. But as the image on its surface began to swirl hazily...
"Oh no!" Jon gasped as he caught sight of a small and shadowy figure swiping his bag of marshmallows. Was it Memory? He jumped out of his chair and sped after the chuckling marshmallow thief.
The image in the scrying crystal was now of a tall, stocky girl, riding a gelding.
************************************************************************
Kel wiped the sweat beading on her forehead and glanced behind her at Stefan. He was lagging, his head bent so that it nearly rested against his horse's mane. He was depressed, she could see, and she reined in Peachblossom, waiting for the hostler to catch up. He looked surprised.
"Are ye wantin' somethin', m'lady?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "No. I just thought you might be lonely, that's all, Stefan. You were riding back there all by yourself."
He smiled a little. "'S nice of ye t'worry, m'lady." He was silent for a moment, chewing slowly on something that might have been his tongue.
"So tell me a little about yourself," Kel urged, more to fill up the silence than because she was interested. "Were you born in Corus?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I was raised in a wee village by the sea, in a tiny cottage with my mother and two sisters..."
Kel tried to keep her mind on what the hostler was saying, but she kept getting distracted: by the bright flash of a hummingbird's wings, by the slow movement of the Olorun beside the road (which was littered with numerous Pepsi bottles), by a song going through her head. The song especially was persistent. Not fully realizing it, she began to hum it, then whisper it, the sing it at full force.
"You've been thinkin' I get down," she proclaimed, interrupting Stefan's description of his cousin's late husband's uncle's niece's sister's pony,
"But I never play around,
Just hangin' with the fellas when I'm chillin' downtown,
Girl I just want you to see.
No breakin', fakin', no mistakin',
I just want some honesty from you boooooooooy,
Stop frontin' on me, you're buggin' me.
You better wake up, make up, get ready for a shake up,
I just want some honesty from you boooooooooy,
Cause you're frontin' on me, stop-"
Kel stopped singing, looking around confusedly. When her gaze fell on Stefan, she winced. "I'm sorry, Stefan," she said balefully. "I didn't mean to do that."
"'S what they all say," Stefan said ruefully. "Well, at least ye didn't scream at me t'shut up."
"Of course no-"
A sound, or maybe a lack of sound, made Kel's head turn as she looked for its source. Something was not right. (WHY was she thinking about twelve little girls in two straight lines?) The road was too quiet, too calm; it was like the centre of a cyclone.
Kel turned to Stefan, who was plaiting his horse's mane and tying the plaits with neon pink and orange ribbons. "I think we should-" she began, but was interrupted on account of a soft pink monster with claws the colour of lilacs and a musk that resembled blueberries erupted up from the road before them, snatched the humans and their horses, and dragged them down into the bowels of the Earth.
CHAPTER TWO: THE ARRIVAL
Joren took a long swig from the Pepsi bottle in his hand, only to discover it was empty. Scowling, he tossed it onto the road behind him. A trail of identical bottles stretched as far as the eye could see where he had rode.
He studied the map in his hand, glanced at the Olorun, studied the map some more, glanced at the Olorun, studied the map, glanced at the Olorun, and then turned the map right side up. He scowled once more, tugging on his reins so that his horse would stop, then slipped from the saddle and sat down, gloomily opening a fresh bottle of Pepsi.
Five days now he had been on the road. Five days and apparently he was no closer to his goal. (Most people wouldn't be frustrated by this, as it took a week to reach the place where he could reach his goal; however, Joren was an impatient sort.) His hand went to the pouch at his waist, touching the toupee within.
"I could destroy Keladry," he muttered to himself. "I could do it today, if I could just travel fast enough! I wish-"
His horse, grazing nearby, looked up as a shadow passed over her, then screamed and bolted downriver. Joren barely had time to think ::Curse it all to Bright Mithros!:: before the being that had cast the shadow landed before him.
It was another horse, but a magnificent stallion. His coat was as soft as velvet, its colours subtly shading from deep rose to shadowy violet to misty silver, with a pair of wings like feathered rainbows sprouting from his shoulders. His bones were fine and delicate; his cloven gold hooves shone with a gentle light. He was absolutely beautiful.
Joren hated him on sight.
"Do you wish to travel, my son?" asked the stallion in a voice as soft and a summer's breeze, the words carrying to the page with the rose-like scent of the stallion's breath.
"Of course," snarled Joren. "Why ELSE would I be on the road?"
The stallion frowned. "There is no need to be rude, my son," he said sternly. "I will transport you to your destination, if you-"
"You want me to ride on *you*?" Joren demanded. "I don't think so! What if someone saw me? My testosterone-driven illusions of sexist grandeur would be destroyed!"
The stallion glared at him. "I was sent to help you," he snapped, his voice not at all soft now. "If you don't believe me, take a look at the map!"
Joren glanced at the map again.
Trust him, read the writing appearing at the top. He will help you.
"Bah," muttered the page under his breath as he climbed onto the back of the stallion. "I HATE pink. It clashes with my tuni- I mean, it's unmanly. Yeah. That's what I meant. Unmanly. Feminine. Girly. All that stuff. Yeah."
The stallion, naturally, was ignoring him completely and had already taken off.
They remained in the air for almost an hour. Most people would be astonished that the horse could turn what was normally a two-day ride into an hour or so of travel, but as was mentioned before, Joren was an impatient sort.
"Fast-errr," he whined, tugging on the stallion's mane. For good measure, he gave the winged beast a good kick. He (the horse, not Joren) reared in midair, the violent kick startling him into forgetting to flap his wings for a split second.
It was enough. The stallion dropped like a stone, his wings going like a crazed hummingbird's, so that he just managed to skim the tops of the grassy fields beneath him. All the while, Joren screamed bloody murder.
"Calm down, my son," said the stallion, sounding a little frazzled. "We are safe."
"Safe?! Sa- oh." Joren looked around and stopped screaming.
They came in time to a castle, its walls of crystal reflecting the sunset's rich colours and light so that it was almost too bright to look at. Behind it loomed a dark forest, its shadows barely touching the building before it. The stallion drifted down before it, trotting a short way up the pebbled causeway to the great gates. Upon seeing them, Joren hopped down from the stallion's back and lay a hand on the knocker. It was silver, shaped like a woman's face with a ring inserted in the mouth.
::Beware, mortal,:: said a voice inside Joren's head. ::Knock only if you truly wish for what you seek, and know this- only those who are pure of heart may enter here.::
"Really?" Joren asked it, awed in spite of himself.
There was a very short pause, then, ::No,:: the voice replied. ::It sounds impressive, though, doesn't it? Well, don't just stand there, come on in.::
And with that the doors opened, revealing long halls, columned in marble and floored in glass. Chandeliers, hard to see because of the height of the domed ceiling, hung overhead, reflecting the dim light. It was a hushed and majestic place, a place where you immediately wanted to whisper and tiptoe. And so Joren, being Joren, stomped.
"Gently, my son," whispered the stallion behind him. "Our mistress does not wish to be disturbed."
::Oh, it's alright once in a while,:: said the voice in Joren's head. ::As long as the disturber's cute. Turn left now, please, First door to your right, you can't miss it.::
It was indeed hard to miss, the door in question being shaped like a kittycat. Joren dubiously opened it and found himself in a large, round room. The floor was covered in a deep pink rug, as thick and soft as forest moss. The golden cages overhead held exotic birds of song, and soft couches overflowed with tasselled cushions. The air was sweetly perfumed. It made Joren feel rather sick.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" said the voice that had been in his head cheerfully. Joren whirled around to find himself facing a gorgeous stranger.
************************************************************************
Jon gazed deep into the scrying crystal, his brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of what he saw in it. Was it Joren on the back of that winged horse, or some wayward princess? Personally, Jon had never been able to tell the difference. He shrugged- it probably didn't matter- and straightened, wincing as his neck audibly cracked. A glance around the room told him everything was in order. No lamps were lit- he found it easier to scry in the dark- the door was still locked, and the bag of marshmallows he had been eating was still sitting on his bed. He reached inside it and pulled one out, stuffing it in his mouth.
"Keladry of Mindelan," he said to the crystal. But as the image on its surface began to swirl hazily...
"Oh no!" Jon gasped as he caught sight of a small and shadowy figure swiping his bag of marshmallows. Was it Memory? He jumped out of his chair and sped after the chuckling marshmallow thief.
The image in the scrying crystal was now of a tall, stocky girl, riding a gelding.
************************************************************************
Kel wiped the sweat beading on her forehead and glanced behind her at Stefan. He was lagging, his head bent so that it nearly rested against his horse's mane. He was depressed, she could see, and she reined in Peachblossom, waiting for the hostler to catch up. He looked surprised.
"Are ye wantin' somethin', m'lady?" he asked her.
She shook her head. "No. I just thought you might be lonely, that's all, Stefan. You were riding back there all by yourself."
He smiled a little. "'S nice of ye t'worry, m'lady." He was silent for a moment, chewing slowly on something that might have been his tongue.
"So tell me a little about yourself," Kel urged, more to fill up the silence than because she was interested. "Were you born in Corus?"
He shook his head. "Nah. I was raised in a wee village by the sea, in a tiny cottage with my mother and two sisters..."
Kel tried to keep her mind on what the hostler was saying, but she kept getting distracted: by the bright flash of a hummingbird's wings, by the slow movement of the Olorun beside the road (which was littered with numerous Pepsi bottles), by a song going through her head. The song especially was persistent. Not fully realizing it, she began to hum it, then whisper it, the sing it at full force.
"You've been thinkin' I get down," she proclaimed, interrupting Stefan's description of his cousin's late husband's uncle's niece's sister's pony,
"But I never play around,
Just hangin' with the fellas when I'm chillin' downtown,
Girl I just want you to see.
No breakin', fakin', no mistakin',
I just want some honesty from you boooooooooy,
Stop frontin' on me, you're buggin' me.
You better wake up, make up, get ready for a shake up,
I just want some honesty from you boooooooooy,
Cause you're frontin' on me, stop-"
Kel stopped singing, looking around confusedly. When her gaze fell on Stefan, she winced. "I'm sorry, Stefan," she said balefully. "I didn't mean to do that."
"'S what they all say," Stefan said ruefully. "Well, at least ye didn't scream at me t'shut up."
"Of course no-"
A sound, or maybe a lack of sound, made Kel's head turn as she looked for its source. Something was not right. (WHY was she thinking about twelve little girls in two straight lines?) The road was too quiet, too calm; it was like the centre of a cyclone.
Kel turned to Stefan, who was plaiting his horse's mane and tying the plaits with neon pink and orange ribbons. "I think we should-" she began, but was interrupted on account of a soft pink monster with claws the colour of lilacs and a musk that resembled blueberries erupted up from the road before them, snatched the humans and their horses, and dragged them down into the bowels of the Earth.