**A/N: Here 'tis- the long-awaited (although without much anticipation) fourth chapter of THE HOLY SCROLL! *Cue theme music of the dun-dun-da-dun kind.*
There is another witty and overtly obvious Monty Python reference hidden away in this chapter- the first to catch it will get a cookie. I also have slash references. (How could I NOT, with Auron in it?) They are not graphic, but very unsubtle. If you don't like slash much, I suggest you maybe skip those bits. If you don't like badly written accents, you may as well go read something else entirely. Sorry.
And remember, I don't own Tortall any more than in the first chapter. However, due to a certain previously written contract which I have conveniently forgotten up 'til now, I DO in fact own Yamani conditioner and all who use it, write about it, make references to it, think about it, or look at pictures that feature it must pay a fine to yours truly.**
The Sentence
Raw energy coursed through Joren's veins. He chuckled in delight, then yelped as Keladry's glaive swung too close for comfort. His arms reacted with unnatural speed, striking back, then, when he missed, thrusting and nicking her cheek. She hissed, and at the sight of first blood Joren yelled in triumph. THE TOUPEE hummed again, accompanying a fresh surge of adrenaline that made his very blood sing.
"Come on, Jori- ACK!" Auron's yelp somehow carried above the noise of Joren's sword meeting Keladry's blade again. He managed to get a glimpse of the god struggling with something brown and fuzzy before her glaive nearly snicked off a lock of his hair. He struck, caught the glaive on its staff with his sword blade, and bore down, forcing her to her knees. Under the pressure, the glaive's head snapped off. She fell back, clutching the jagged-ended staff that her pigsticker had become.
The edge of his sword pressed lightly against her throat. He held it there, grinning. An odd white light obscured his vision.
"So, Mindelan," he said, trying to make his tone casual and nonchalant, as though he had expected nothing other than this, "what're you going to do now?"
She smiled politely at him once.
Then, as an answer, she rammed the sharp end of her staff through his stomach.
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The world around Jon shivered. The Files and Records Hall suddenly faded, to be replaced by a grey-skied valley. Mountains towered grimly around him, covered in stubbly grass and heather.
And, oddly enough, scorch marks.
Jon stared around in wonder. What had happened? Who or what had brought him here? Where were his marshmallows? That last was foremost in his mind, and so he set off in no particular direction, searching for his Memory.
::Stupid marshmallow thief,:: he thought grumpily. His breath came short as he climbed up one of the gentler hills. Keeping a careful eye out for more fangirls that might be lurking about, he topped a rise and saw the whole of the rather uninteresting, vaguely Scottish valley spread below him.
An explosion to his left made him start and turn. A flaming staff was pointed at him, wielded by a thin old man whose dark beard was so liberally streaked with grey that one could reverse the order of the two colours in a sentence and it would still be the truth. He stared ominously at the King for a moment, then turned abruptly and pointed his staff at a mountaintop. It spontaneously combusted.
Jon blinked. "Um... hello? I'm looking for a memory, and maybe a bag of marshmallows."
The bearded man turned back to him, black eyes narrowed. "Yes. I know of what you speak," he replied softly.
Most people would know from the tone to stop speaking and back away, preferably for a great distance. Most people weren't Jon.
He tried his most charming smile. "That's great- it'll save me explanations." He remembered the blank stare that most people gave him when he tried to explain things and sighed dramatically- sometimes it just wasn't worth being an almighty monarch, for they tended to be wise in such an inexplicable way that no one understood them. "I'm Jon, by the way," he added, offering his hand. "Who are you?"
The old man stared eerily at him, then said slowly, "I... am an enchanter. By name I am known as... Tim."
The world froze.
"Oh, come ON!" an irritated female voice said. "Jared, I don't expect much of you- you're YOU, after all- but even YOU should know the difference between the Divine Realms and the Monty Python continuum!"
"Well, I've only been in this line of work for a few millennia!" a male voice replied indignantly. "Don't blame ME for the similarities of the planes of human thought! DEMONIC planes, now, there's distinction-"
"We haven't been assigned to demonic planes since Uusoae's millionth birthday, you idiot! If you keep on hoping for a transfer and making stupid mistakes like this we'll BOTH get demoted, maybe even back to monitoring Nirvana. And why did you choose such STUPID bodies for us?"
What she meant became evident when Jon located the two speakers. They were yellow figures, one vaguely male and the other vaguely female, walking stiffly with kneeless legs made of the same unidentifiable material as the tiny bricks in the Files and Records Hall. The male one seemed to feel sheepish, although real facial expressions weren't in evidence.
"I- I thought they'd be fun," he muttered. "I saw those things in the Files and Records Hall and I thought... Marcy, you don't really think we'll be demoted as low as Nirvana, do you?"
The female figure did something that could only be described as shuddering. "Gods, I hope not. All those trippy spirits floating around everywhere, burbling about how HAPPY they are... it makes me sick." She pulled something from her pocket. Something about the act made Jon's head spin- not an infrequent happening- and when he rubbed his eyes free of little black spots, she held a door. Placing it firmly on the rocky ground, she looked at Jon. "Through here, please," she said, pulling it open to reveal what looked like a palace of some kind.
Jon hesitated, then said, "Sorry, but I can't go in there. You see, I'm looking for-"
A small foot of a substance unknown to him connected violently with his posterior, sending him flying over the threshold.
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Stefan was more or less lost.
He wasn't sure if "lost" was exactly the right word. Generally people who got lost were trying to go somewhere, but he was not- or, at least, not anywhere in particular. However, he had no idea where he was, so "lost" was the only word he could use at that point. Whatever the proper word was, he was it, and it was beginning to annoy him.
There were worst places to be more or less lost in, he suppose. His present location was actually rather pleasant- dim, cool, and smelling vaguely like horses (although he couldn't see any of them). In fact, he'd probably feel at home here if it wasn't for the fact that he'd woken with his face pressed into a barrel of hay, alone in what had seemed to be a stall. That troubled him. He wondered what had happened to the horses, and Page Keladry. He wondered where the wavering, orange light was coming from. He wondered why he was suddenly thirsty.
"Water?" he muttered with a bemused frown, trying to put a name to the liquid he was envisioning. "No, that can't be right. Water isn't black or... or buzzy like. Is it a kind've cider, then?"
"Oh, no," came a worried murmur. "He's one of THOSE."
"One of what?"
"Well, in the Realms we call them nuisances, but I think their official name is 'temporal anomalies'. Or something like that. They're more sensitive to energetic distortions than the average mortal; luckily nobody ever seems to listen to them. He's picking up on a certain ley line- one of the bothersome ones."
"That one that the God of Fizzy Liquids left behind the last time he visited the mortal realms?"
"Yup."
"I thought Andrew erased that one."
"Proved to be too stubborn, I guess. That, or Andrew was too lazy to bother."
The speakers were hard for Stefan to make out, but even in the dim light there was something wrong with them- they were too small to be human, and all angles, with faces that looked yellow and frozen into perfect U-shaped smiles. He knelt to squint at them, nearly overbalancing.
"Hello, there!" said the female-ish one brightly. "You seem to be lost. Might I aid you by pointing out the blindingly obvious flashing signs that are on the walls giving directions out of this rather dank and very dim catacomb-esque place?"
Stefan glanced up at the wall, seemingly empty of any sort of sign, then wordlessly back at the two figures.
The female-ish one groaned, maintaining the same whacked-with-a-hammer grin. "Jared. You forgot the signs."
The other, male-ish person sounded both defiant and embarrassed as he replied, "Oh, sure, blame me. Do you expect me to do EVERYTHING?"
"Not really, but I DO expect you to do SOMETHING." When he didn't reply, the female-ish one sighed and took Stefan's head between two strange yellow hands, turning it until he was looking at the wall to his right. He found himself faced with garish yellow lettering, the words TWO LEFT TURNS, UP THE STAIRS, AND THROUGH THE LARGE FRONT DOOR- AND MIND THE CARPETS! flashing at him.
The female-ish person released his head. "There you are, then," she said, nudging him with a blocky foot. "Just do what the sign says, and remember, the wall ornaments are not for touching."
Stefan straightened, blinking in the sickly light of the sign. "Uh... thanks," he said, staring at the two people for a moment. It was strange to talk to someone who didn't plug their ears and starts to hum- or worse yet, hit you- as soon as you opened your mouth. Unnatural, even.
The two didn't look up at him- he assumed they couldn't; their necks seemed very stiff- or say anything in return. Perhaps it was their way of plugging their ears and humming. A bit miffed at that thought, he started off in the direction indicated by the hideous sign, vanishing quickly out of sight in the dim. The female-ish one waited until he was out of sight to address her companion.
"I'm never letting you choose our bodies again, Jared."
"Oh, bite me."
************************************************************************
Joren didn't feel pain. That would have surprised him, what with the pole emerging from his innards, but it was suddenly cold and dark and he couldn't feel anything.
"Oh, no..." Feeling rushed back into him as someone's foot made violent contact with his ribs, he groaned, then realized with a start that there wasn't a pole in his stomach. His eyes opened, and he saw Mindelan glaring at him. He sneered, but one hand went to his abdomen, feeling around for the jagged hole that had been there the last time he'd checked. It wasn't in evidence. Getting to his feet, he realized suddenly why she had said, 'oh, no'. Marbles columns rose around them, beneath a split sky with scattered stars on one half and clear blue on the other. They were in some kind of courtyard, not one he'd seen before, and definitely not part of Auron's palace- it stretched on as far in any direction as what he could see of the sky, and seemed just as empty.
"Where in Mithros' name am I?" he demanded, turning to face her. "Where've you dragged me to, Mindelan?"
She kept on glaring, her cold eyes fixed upon him. "I was going to ask you that one."
Joren muttered a curse and turned away, putting one hand to his head for THE TOUPEE. He realized too late that it wasn't there.
"Not there, eh?" a voice cackled from behind him. He turned again, then looked down. A toothless old man, barely half his height, grinned up at him, his tiny body swimming in an overlarge black coat. "T'be expected. Ye'll find they don't let ye keep such toys here."
"Who are they, if I might ask?" Keladry asked politely. The little man turned to her, his already wrinkled face creasing still more with mirth.
"Ye'll see. Soon, if my guess is right." He reached into a huge pocket and pulled out a clear bottle filled with some kind of black liquid. Guzzling the contents within seconds, he pulled out another, twisted off the cap and offered it to her. "Pepsi fer ye, lass?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"
Joren's eyes grew wide as he caught the scent. His hands moved of their own volition, but the old man, grinning wickedly, held the bottle out of his reach.
"Now, don't be foolish, lad. Ye don't want t'rot yer pretty teeth, do ye?"
Enraged, Joren swung at him, only to find that his hand stopped before contact.
"Enough!" a voice boomed through the courtyard. "Honestly, Rags, do we need to hire you a keeper?"
The speaker strode through the columns, seemingly out of nowhere. It was a man, tall and powerful, with skin the colour of chocolate. He glared at the three of them.
The old man- 'Rags', evidently- grinned impudently. "Prob'ly, milord," he replied, bowing. "Personally I wonder why ye haven't yet. Sometimes ye make me think I'm not trying hard enough."
"No, no, you're trying quite hard enough," said the newcomer hastily. "It's just... don't you have something better to do?"
Rags snickered. "Now, m'lord, what was that? Where's the fire and brimstone? Where's the passionate declarations of divine rage?"
"I have spent the last hour or so arguing with my wife," returned the newcomer. "I'm 'fire and brimestone'-d out. Now would you cooperate for ONCE?"
The old man tipped his battered hat. "Wouldn't e'en think'f disobeyin', m'lord Mithros. Nope, not me. After all, I'm yer humble servant in all things, en't I?" With another toothless leer he pulled his ragged coat closer to him, shuffling away through the columns without glancing back even once. After a moment, he shimmered and vanished.
It was only then that Mithros turned back to the other two mortals, sighing in relief. "He lied, you know," he said, almost conversationally. "He's not privy to me, nor to anyone but Father Universe and Mother Flame Themselves- and even They need to resort to bribes now and then. Rags isn't his real name, either- he's never told us that. Says if any but his mediums know it he'll vanish." The god snorted in apparent contempt and looked at the humans as if expecting a response. If that was the case, he was sorely disappointed- Keladry looked blank, which might have been her way of dealing with shock, and Joren... well, even if he hadn't been speechless with terror, he couldn't move his jaw, lips, or tongue. The Sun Lord waited a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"I suppose I've got to clear this up..." he muttered, then snapped his fingers. Raising his voice, he called sharply, "Marcy! Jared! Hurry up and grab Auron, then portal back here!"
The air wavered, and particles moved. Laws of impossibility bent the laws of magic, and Joren's head turned. After a moment, finding he could look back, Auron stood there, looking more than a bit mussed. A silver-clawed squirrel stood a few feet away, chattering furiously. Two strange figures, barely a foot high and yellow-faced, bowed stiffly to Mithros.
"We got him, my lord," said the vaguely male-ish one. He sounded a little out of breath. "Awaiting trial, as you asked. Didn't even have to cut anything off for cooperation."
"Idiot," muttered the other, vaguely female-ish one. "He's a GOD- it wouldn't have done much good." She cleared her throat and turned to Mithros, speaking louder. "My lord, I have a request."
Mithros raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Find me a partner who isn't a complete dunderhead." She gave her companion what was probably meant to be a withering glare.
"I'll look into it, Marcy, but as to the matter at hand..."
Marcy subsided, muttering what sounded like "Forgot the SIGNS..." and "Couldn't even give us decent BODIES..."
The Sun Lord turned to Auron. "Lord Auron, you stand accused," he said sternly. His armour suddenly started to gleam, and Joren wondered if that was what the priests meant when they spoke of 'the light of justice'. "Without an open challenge you defied a god, one of your kin, and used mortals as tools for your own means- and what is worse, gave them a weapon of divine power!" THE TOUPEE appeared in his open hand, and he looked at it with distaste. "Albeit one in a rather unconventional form. What is your excuse?"
Auron sighed patiently. "No need to accuse me, sweetie," he said. "I followed the rules set- I chose my champion, I trained him, he fought his adversary. Those were the rules. And now I demand my rights to be upheld. I demand to reenter the Divine Realms." For a moment his eyes blazed again like amber fire, and he seemed to grow taller, his skin shining. Then, cocking his head to the side, he added, "Wait... he lost, didn't he?"
Mithros nodded gravely.
"Oops. My bad." The fire faded from his eyes, and he became again no more than a pretty man in a dress.
The squirrel stopped chattering for a moment and glared at the Sun Lord. "Squeaken squeak squark!" he demanded.
Mithros blinked. "Did you just say 'squark'?" he asked the squirrel. He nodded furiously.
"I thought that was parrotish," the male-ish figure murmured.
"Squeak squeakum squee," the squirrel opined.
"Are you certain? He DID try to kill you."
"Squeaken squeak."
"Uusoae was a completely different matter, and you know it."
"Squee squikkit squeaken!"
"What do you mean, my hair needs cutting?"
"Squeakum."
"I'd thank you not to talk about my deprived childhood, you insolent rodent!"
The squirrel god looked outraged. "SQUEAK-"
"Pardon me, my lords?"
It was Keladry. Joren would have sneered, as he always did, at the sound of her voice, but he was still stuck. He tried to content himself with sneering mentally as she approached the trio of immortals, only to find that it was well-nigh impossible to sneer mentally.
"You have something to say, mortal?" Mithros demanded imperiously.
She bowed deeply. "Forgive the intrusion, but might I ask what the good.. er... squirrel proposes?"
The Sun Lord scowled. "Life imprisonment in the mortal realms for this law-breaker and his pawn. It was his sentence anyway, chosen for him centuries ago- now that he has broken the rules, he deserves worse. He deserves death." At the word death, his voice deepened to a thunderous growl.
"I see." After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "I may not remember entirely right, lord Mithros, but didn't Mother Flame and Father Universe forbid their children to kill one another?"
Mithros' face went blank for a moment, then sagged. His shoulders followed suit. "You're right."
"Squeak," commented the squirrel, rather smugly.
"There's no need to be so self-satisfied," the god snapped, then turned once more to Keladry. "You knew that he" - his hand waved in Auron's general direction- "is a god? How?"
Keladry's eyes flickered from the gleaming Sun Lord to the unusually good-looking Auron, then to the squirrel and the two half-forgotten yellow-faced figures. Her gaze took in the split sky, the stance Joren was frozen in, the direction in which Rags had vanished, and her mouth twitched. "Let's just say I guessed," she said composedly.
Mithros sighed and muttered something under his breath, then drew himself up. His eyes flashed with something that might have been lightning as he pronounced, "hear me, Auron, sister-"
"- brother-"
"Brother, then, of Aariel, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in the mortal realms. No mortals shall ever come upon your palace again, nor shall you leave its grounds. So speaks Lord Mithros." Lightning flickered in the harlequin sky.
Auron raised his hand.
Mithros glared at him, and lightning flashed twice more. "WHAT, Auron?"
"The rules say I get to keep him." Auron pointed to Joren.
"A little late to be thinking about rules, don't you think?"
"A little late for you to stop thinking about them, sweetie," Auron returned.
Mithros growled in anger, and somewhere in the mortal realms a petty fur merchant had a heart attack. "FINE." Clearing his throat, he amended, "No mortals shall ever enter your palace save this one, who due to a previous contract is yours to dispose of as you please."
As Auron opened his mouth, Mithros added hastily, "We don't want to know what you do with him, trust me."
Auron grinned and picked Joren up. Suddenly finding that he was able to move, he screamed, struggling.
"Tsk, tsk," Auron murmured, setting him down and staring at him thoughtfully. "I guess we'll have to do this the... hard... way." He snickered. "Innuendo. Fun."
Mithros looked as though he was fighting off a nosebleed. "I-indeed," he managed. He waved his hand, and the courtyard shifted and changed to a garden, filled with sunlight and the smell of roses. Keladry sniffed appreciatively.
"Here in your palace, Auron, shall you and your mortal remain until the ends of the Earth meet in fire," intoned the Sun Lord.
"We get it, Mithie," Auron said in exasperation. He looked at Joren. "Hmm. Let's try that screaming/struggling thing again, but in a different spirit." Joren backed away, his eyes huge.
Mithros tried to speak once more, but words seemed to fail him. He held out a hand to the squirrel god, who hopped on with one last squeak to Keladry.
"He says to say goodbye to Nealan for him," Mithros told her. "And to tell him that the velvet beats the cotton hollow." He looked at the two figures. "Marcy, Jared, take her out of here," he said. "And set the barrier around the palace once you're done." With a flash of light that gave all present spots before their eyes, the two gods disappeared.
The one remaining stared at the spot where they had been for a moment, then shrugged cheefully. "Can't win 'em all," he said.
Kel shook her head and turned to the two yellow-faced people. "I'm a little confused," she said.
"We'll explain," the one called Marcy assured her, tugging at her sleeve. "Come with us-
your servant's waiting at the gates with your gear. This way."
As the two lead her from the garden, Joren screamed again. "Mindelan!" he yelled
desperately, running after them. "Mindelan, get back her! Help a fellow out!"
He felt himself freeze again, balanced precariously with his arms stretched out and one foot off of the ground. Auron smiled at him, lifting his skirt a little as he came closer.
"Whassamatter, Jori?"
Joren stared in horror at the god's smooth face, at the huge sparkling eyes, at the faint blush to his soft- ::No!::
"I need to preserve my masculinity!" he blurted out. Auron snorted.
"Sweetheart, that girl that just left was more masculine than you." He considered. "'Sides, I don't really like manly men. Too hairy."
Joren screamed again.
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Stefan was indeed standing by the gate, along with Peachblossom and the gelding he- Stefan, that is, not Peachblossom- had ridden. He smiled as Kel approached him, balling something furry into a small wad. For a moment his eyes rested on her two companions, curious, then he shrugged.
"Hello, miss Keladry," he said when she reached his side. "They showed ye out too, then?"
"Hello, Stefan," Kel smiled. "What's that in your hand?"
"In my- oh. This." Stefan glanced at it. "Some tall, strong fellow gave it to me, said I needed to keep it safe. Would've asked why, but he weren't th'kind've lad ye'd question on sight." He uncrumpled the object and added, "Looks a bit like a toupee, now I think of it."
Kel blinked at him without comprehension, then turned to the two figures. Stefan sighed. Sometimes you just couldn't win.
"There's something that I don't quite understand," Kel said conversationally to Marcy and Jared. "In legends, it's written that mortals take the passage between realms hard. Why don't I feel any effects?"
Marcy shrugged. "It wouldn't have been very convenient for that blond one to be fainting while he was sentenced, would it? Lord Mithros instructed us to slow the effects- they should hit you within the next week or so. Just chalk it up to a bad bout of the flu."
"If you can do that, does that make you a goddess?" Kel queried.
Marcy shook her head, looking a trifle disgusted. "Hardly. Neither I nor Jared are even slightly divine- we just clean up after those who are." She peered up at the human girl. "Is that all?"
"Yes. Thank you so much for your help." Kel smiled warmly at them both. "For explaining it to me. You've been a great help!"
"Not a problem," Marcy replied cheerily.
"Our pleasure," added Jared.
They watched the mortals mount up and start back down the road to Corus in the west. Only when they were small in the distance did Marcy ask, "So, do you think she'll realize
that we didn't actually explain anything?"
He grinned. "Nah. She's human- humans never do." He turned to go, but Marcy stayed
in place, frowning.
"Hey, we need to go set the barrier, remember? What's wrong?"
"Just thinking," she replied. "I feel like we've forgotten something..."
There was a pause, then:
"Oh, bright Mithros, the KING!"
There is another witty and overtly obvious Monty Python reference hidden away in this chapter- the first to catch it will get a cookie. I also have slash references. (How could I NOT, with Auron in it?) They are not graphic, but very unsubtle. If you don't like slash much, I suggest you maybe skip those bits. If you don't like badly written accents, you may as well go read something else entirely. Sorry.
And remember, I don't own Tortall any more than in the first chapter. However, due to a certain previously written contract which I have conveniently forgotten up 'til now, I DO in fact own Yamani conditioner and all who use it, write about it, make references to it, think about it, or look at pictures that feature it must pay a fine to yours truly.**
The Sentence
Raw energy coursed through Joren's veins. He chuckled in delight, then yelped as Keladry's glaive swung too close for comfort. His arms reacted with unnatural speed, striking back, then, when he missed, thrusting and nicking her cheek. She hissed, and at the sight of first blood Joren yelled in triumph. THE TOUPEE hummed again, accompanying a fresh surge of adrenaline that made his very blood sing.
"Come on, Jori- ACK!" Auron's yelp somehow carried above the noise of Joren's sword meeting Keladry's blade again. He managed to get a glimpse of the god struggling with something brown and fuzzy before her glaive nearly snicked off a lock of his hair. He struck, caught the glaive on its staff with his sword blade, and bore down, forcing her to her knees. Under the pressure, the glaive's head snapped off. She fell back, clutching the jagged-ended staff that her pigsticker had become.
The edge of his sword pressed lightly against her throat. He held it there, grinning. An odd white light obscured his vision.
"So, Mindelan," he said, trying to make his tone casual and nonchalant, as though he had expected nothing other than this, "what're you going to do now?"
She smiled politely at him once.
Then, as an answer, she rammed the sharp end of her staff through his stomach.
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The world around Jon shivered. The Files and Records Hall suddenly faded, to be replaced by a grey-skied valley. Mountains towered grimly around him, covered in stubbly grass and heather.
And, oddly enough, scorch marks.
Jon stared around in wonder. What had happened? Who or what had brought him here? Where were his marshmallows? That last was foremost in his mind, and so he set off in no particular direction, searching for his Memory.
::Stupid marshmallow thief,:: he thought grumpily. His breath came short as he climbed up one of the gentler hills. Keeping a careful eye out for more fangirls that might be lurking about, he topped a rise and saw the whole of the rather uninteresting, vaguely Scottish valley spread below him.
An explosion to his left made him start and turn. A flaming staff was pointed at him, wielded by a thin old man whose dark beard was so liberally streaked with grey that one could reverse the order of the two colours in a sentence and it would still be the truth. He stared ominously at the King for a moment, then turned abruptly and pointed his staff at a mountaintop. It spontaneously combusted.
Jon blinked. "Um... hello? I'm looking for a memory, and maybe a bag of marshmallows."
The bearded man turned back to him, black eyes narrowed. "Yes. I know of what you speak," he replied softly.
Most people would know from the tone to stop speaking and back away, preferably for a great distance. Most people weren't Jon.
He tried his most charming smile. "That's great- it'll save me explanations." He remembered the blank stare that most people gave him when he tried to explain things and sighed dramatically- sometimes it just wasn't worth being an almighty monarch, for they tended to be wise in such an inexplicable way that no one understood them. "I'm Jon, by the way," he added, offering his hand. "Who are you?"
The old man stared eerily at him, then said slowly, "I... am an enchanter. By name I am known as... Tim."
The world froze.
"Oh, come ON!" an irritated female voice said. "Jared, I don't expect much of you- you're YOU, after all- but even YOU should know the difference between the Divine Realms and the Monty Python continuum!"
"Well, I've only been in this line of work for a few millennia!" a male voice replied indignantly. "Don't blame ME for the similarities of the planes of human thought! DEMONIC planes, now, there's distinction-"
"We haven't been assigned to demonic planes since Uusoae's millionth birthday, you idiot! If you keep on hoping for a transfer and making stupid mistakes like this we'll BOTH get demoted, maybe even back to monitoring Nirvana. And why did you choose such STUPID bodies for us?"
What she meant became evident when Jon located the two speakers. They were yellow figures, one vaguely male and the other vaguely female, walking stiffly with kneeless legs made of the same unidentifiable material as the tiny bricks in the Files and Records Hall. The male one seemed to feel sheepish, although real facial expressions weren't in evidence.
"I- I thought they'd be fun," he muttered. "I saw those things in the Files and Records Hall and I thought... Marcy, you don't really think we'll be demoted as low as Nirvana, do you?"
The female figure did something that could only be described as shuddering. "Gods, I hope not. All those trippy spirits floating around everywhere, burbling about how HAPPY they are... it makes me sick." She pulled something from her pocket. Something about the act made Jon's head spin- not an infrequent happening- and when he rubbed his eyes free of little black spots, she held a door. Placing it firmly on the rocky ground, she looked at Jon. "Through here, please," she said, pulling it open to reveal what looked like a palace of some kind.
Jon hesitated, then said, "Sorry, but I can't go in there. You see, I'm looking for-"
A small foot of a substance unknown to him connected violently with his posterior, sending him flying over the threshold.
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Stefan was more or less lost.
He wasn't sure if "lost" was exactly the right word. Generally people who got lost were trying to go somewhere, but he was not- or, at least, not anywhere in particular. However, he had no idea where he was, so "lost" was the only word he could use at that point. Whatever the proper word was, he was it, and it was beginning to annoy him.
There were worst places to be more or less lost in, he suppose. His present location was actually rather pleasant- dim, cool, and smelling vaguely like horses (although he couldn't see any of them). In fact, he'd probably feel at home here if it wasn't for the fact that he'd woken with his face pressed into a barrel of hay, alone in what had seemed to be a stall. That troubled him. He wondered what had happened to the horses, and Page Keladry. He wondered where the wavering, orange light was coming from. He wondered why he was suddenly thirsty.
"Water?" he muttered with a bemused frown, trying to put a name to the liquid he was envisioning. "No, that can't be right. Water isn't black or... or buzzy like. Is it a kind've cider, then?"
"Oh, no," came a worried murmur. "He's one of THOSE."
"One of what?"
"Well, in the Realms we call them nuisances, but I think their official name is 'temporal anomalies'. Or something like that. They're more sensitive to energetic distortions than the average mortal; luckily nobody ever seems to listen to them. He's picking up on a certain ley line- one of the bothersome ones."
"That one that the God of Fizzy Liquids left behind the last time he visited the mortal realms?"
"Yup."
"I thought Andrew erased that one."
"Proved to be too stubborn, I guess. That, or Andrew was too lazy to bother."
The speakers were hard for Stefan to make out, but even in the dim light there was something wrong with them- they were too small to be human, and all angles, with faces that looked yellow and frozen into perfect U-shaped smiles. He knelt to squint at them, nearly overbalancing.
"Hello, there!" said the female-ish one brightly. "You seem to be lost. Might I aid you by pointing out the blindingly obvious flashing signs that are on the walls giving directions out of this rather dank and very dim catacomb-esque place?"
Stefan glanced up at the wall, seemingly empty of any sort of sign, then wordlessly back at the two figures.
The female-ish one groaned, maintaining the same whacked-with-a-hammer grin. "Jared. You forgot the signs."
The other, male-ish person sounded both defiant and embarrassed as he replied, "Oh, sure, blame me. Do you expect me to do EVERYTHING?"
"Not really, but I DO expect you to do SOMETHING." When he didn't reply, the female-ish one sighed and took Stefan's head between two strange yellow hands, turning it until he was looking at the wall to his right. He found himself faced with garish yellow lettering, the words TWO LEFT TURNS, UP THE STAIRS, AND THROUGH THE LARGE FRONT DOOR- AND MIND THE CARPETS! flashing at him.
The female-ish person released his head. "There you are, then," she said, nudging him with a blocky foot. "Just do what the sign says, and remember, the wall ornaments are not for touching."
Stefan straightened, blinking in the sickly light of the sign. "Uh... thanks," he said, staring at the two people for a moment. It was strange to talk to someone who didn't plug their ears and starts to hum- or worse yet, hit you- as soon as you opened your mouth. Unnatural, even.
The two didn't look up at him- he assumed they couldn't; their necks seemed very stiff- or say anything in return. Perhaps it was their way of plugging their ears and humming. A bit miffed at that thought, he started off in the direction indicated by the hideous sign, vanishing quickly out of sight in the dim. The female-ish one waited until he was out of sight to address her companion.
"I'm never letting you choose our bodies again, Jared."
"Oh, bite me."
************************************************************************
Joren didn't feel pain. That would have surprised him, what with the pole emerging from his innards, but it was suddenly cold and dark and he couldn't feel anything.
"Oh, no..." Feeling rushed back into him as someone's foot made violent contact with his ribs, he groaned, then realized with a start that there wasn't a pole in his stomach. His eyes opened, and he saw Mindelan glaring at him. He sneered, but one hand went to his abdomen, feeling around for the jagged hole that had been there the last time he'd checked. It wasn't in evidence. Getting to his feet, he realized suddenly why she had said, 'oh, no'. Marbles columns rose around them, beneath a split sky with scattered stars on one half and clear blue on the other. They were in some kind of courtyard, not one he'd seen before, and definitely not part of Auron's palace- it stretched on as far in any direction as what he could see of the sky, and seemed just as empty.
"Where in Mithros' name am I?" he demanded, turning to face her. "Where've you dragged me to, Mindelan?"
She kept on glaring, her cold eyes fixed upon him. "I was going to ask you that one."
Joren muttered a curse and turned away, putting one hand to his head for THE TOUPEE. He realized too late that it wasn't there.
"Not there, eh?" a voice cackled from behind him. He turned again, then looked down. A toothless old man, barely half his height, grinned up at him, his tiny body swimming in an overlarge black coat. "T'be expected. Ye'll find they don't let ye keep such toys here."
"Who are they, if I might ask?" Keladry asked politely. The little man turned to her, his already wrinkled face creasing still more with mirth.
"Ye'll see. Soon, if my guess is right." He reached into a huge pocket and pulled out a clear bottle filled with some kind of black liquid. Guzzling the contents within seconds, he pulled out another, twisted off the cap and offered it to her. "Pepsi fer ye, lass?"
She raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry?"
Joren's eyes grew wide as he caught the scent. His hands moved of their own volition, but the old man, grinning wickedly, held the bottle out of his reach.
"Now, don't be foolish, lad. Ye don't want t'rot yer pretty teeth, do ye?"
Enraged, Joren swung at him, only to find that his hand stopped before contact.
"Enough!" a voice boomed through the courtyard. "Honestly, Rags, do we need to hire you a keeper?"
The speaker strode through the columns, seemingly out of nowhere. It was a man, tall and powerful, with skin the colour of chocolate. He glared at the three of them.
The old man- 'Rags', evidently- grinned impudently. "Prob'ly, milord," he replied, bowing. "Personally I wonder why ye haven't yet. Sometimes ye make me think I'm not trying hard enough."
"No, no, you're trying quite hard enough," said the newcomer hastily. "It's just... don't you have something better to do?"
Rags snickered. "Now, m'lord, what was that? Where's the fire and brimstone? Where's the passionate declarations of divine rage?"
"I have spent the last hour or so arguing with my wife," returned the newcomer. "I'm 'fire and brimestone'-d out. Now would you cooperate for ONCE?"
The old man tipped his battered hat. "Wouldn't e'en think'f disobeyin', m'lord Mithros. Nope, not me. After all, I'm yer humble servant in all things, en't I?" With another toothless leer he pulled his ragged coat closer to him, shuffling away through the columns without glancing back even once. After a moment, he shimmered and vanished.
It was only then that Mithros turned back to the other two mortals, sighing in relief. "He lied, you know," he said, almost conversationally. "He's not privy to me, nor to anyone but Father Universe and Mother Flame Themselves- and even They need to resort to bribes now and then. Rags isn't his real name, either- he's never told us that. Says if any but his mediums know it he'll vanish." The god snorted in apparent contempt and looked at the humans as if expecting a response. If that was the case, he was sorely disappointed- Keladry looked blank, which might have been her way of dealing with shock, and Joren... well, even if he hadn't been speechless with terror, he couldn't move his jaw, lips, or tongue. The Sun Lord waited a moment, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"I suppose I've got to clear this up..." he muttered, then snapped his fingers. Raising his voice, he called sharply, "Marcy! Jared! Hurry up and grab Auron, then portal back here!"
The air wavered, and particles moved. Laws of impossibility bent the laws of magic, and Joren's head turned. After a moment, finding he could look back, Auron stood there, looking more than a bit mussed. A silver-clawed squirrel stood a few feet away, chattering furiously. Two strange figures, barely a foot high and yellow-faced, bowed stiffly to Mithros.
"We got him, my lord," said the vaguely male-ish one. He sounded a little out of breath. "Awaiting trial, as you asked. Didn't even have to cut anything off for cooperation."
"Idiot," muttered the other, vaguely female-ish one. "He's a GOD- it wouldn't have done much good." She cleared her throat and turned to Mithros, speaking louder. "My lord, I have a request."
Mithros raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"Find me a partner who isn't a complete dunderhead." She gave her companion what was probably meant to be a withering glare.
"I'll look into it, Marcy, but as to the matter at hand..."
Marcy subsided, muttering what sounded like "Forgot the SIGNS..." and "Couldn't even give us decent BODIES..."
The Sun Lord turned to Auron. "Lord Auron, you stand accused," he said sternly. His armour suddenly started to gleam, and Joren wondered if that was what the priests meant when they spoke of 'the light of justice'. "Without an open challenge you defied a god, one of your kin, and used mortals as tools for your own means- and what is worse, gave them a weapon of divine power!" THE TOUPEE appeared in his open hand, and he looked at it with distaste. "Albeit one in a rather unconventional form. What is your excuse?"
Auron sighed patiently. "No need to accuse me, sweetie," he said. "I followed the rules set- I chose my champion, I trained him, he fought his adversary. Those were the rules. And now I demand my rights to be upheld. I demand to reenter the Divine Realms." For a moment his eyes blazed again like amber fire, and he seemed to grow taller, his skin shining. Then, cocking his head to the side, he added, "Wait... he lost, didn't he?"
Mithros nodded gravely.
"Oops. My bad." The fire faded from his eyes, and he became again no more than a pretty man in a dress.
The squirrel stopped chattering for a moment and glared at the Sun Lord. "Squeaken squeak squark!" he demanded.
Mithros blinked. "Did you just say 'squark'?" he asked the squirrel. He nodded furiously.
"I thought that was parrotish," the male-ish figure murmured.
"Squeak squeakum squee," the squirrel opined.
"Are you certain? He DID try to kill you."
"Squeaken squeak."
"Uusoae was a completely different matter, and you know it."
"Squee squikkit squeaken!"
"What do you mean, my hair needs cutting?"
"Squeakum."
"I'd thank you not to talk about my deprived childhood, you insolent rodent!"
The squirrel god looked outraged. "SQUEAK-"
"Pardon me, my lords?"
It was Keladry. Joren would have sneered, as he always did, at the sound of her voice, but he was still stuck. He tried to content himself with sneering mentally as she approached the trio of immortals, only to find that it was well-nigh impossible to sneer mentally.
"You have something to say, mortal?" Mithros demanded imperiously.
She bowed deeply. "Forgive the intrusion, but might I ask what the good.. er... squirrel proposes?"
The Sun Lord scowled. "Life imprisonment in the mortal realms for this law-breaker and his pawn. It was his sentence anyway, chosen for him centuries ago- now that he has broken the rules, he deserves worse. He deserves death." At the word death, his voice deepened to a thunderous growl.
"I see." After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "I may not remember entirely right, lord Mithros, but didn't Mother Flame and Father Universe forbid their children to kill one another?"
Mithros' face went blank for a moment, then sagged. His shoulders followed suit. "You're right."
"Squeak," commented the squirrel, rather smugly.
"There's no need to be so self-satisfied," the god snapped, then turned once more to Keladry. "You knew that he" - his hand waved in Auron's general direction- "is a god? How?"
Keladry's eyes flickered from the gleaming Sun Lord to the unusually good-looking Auron, then to the squirrel and the two half-forgotten yellow-faced figures. Her gaze took in the split sky, the stance Joren was frozen in, the direction in which Rags had vanished, and her mouth twitched. "Let's just say I guessed," she said composedly.
Mithros sighed and muttered something under his breath, then drew himself up. His eyes flashed with something that might have been lightning as he pronounced, "hear me, Auron, sister-"
"- brother-"
"Brother, then, of Aariel, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment in the mortal realms. No mortals shall ever come upon your palace again, nor shall you leave its grounds. So speaks Lord Mithros." Lightning flickered in the harlequin sky.
Auron raised his hand.
Mithros glared at him, and lightning flashed twice more. "WHAT, Auron?"
"The rules say I get to keep him." Auron pointed to Joren.
"A little late to be thinking about rules, don't you think?"
"A little late for you to stop thinking about them, sweetie," Auron returned.
Mithros growled in anger, and somewhere in the mortal realms a petty fur merchant had a heart attack. "FINE." Clearing his throat, he amended, "No mortals shall ever enter your palace save this one, who due to a previous contract is yours to dispose of as you please."
As Auron opened his mouth, Mithros added hastily, "We don't want to know what you do with him, trust me."
Auron grinned and picked Joren up. Suddenly finding that he was able to move, he screamed, struggling.
"Tsk, tsk," Auron murmured, setting him down and staring at him thoughtfully. "I guess we'll have to do this the... hard... way." He snickered. "Innuendo. Fun."
Mithros looked as though he was fighting off a nosebleed. "I-indeed," he managed. He waved his hand, and the courtyard shifted and changed to a garden, filled with sunlight and the smell of roses. Keladry sniffed appreciatively.
"Here in your palace, Auron, shall you and your mortal remain until the ends of the Earth meet in fire," intoned the Sun Lord.
"We get it, Mithie," Auron said in exasperation. He looked at Joren. "Hmm. Let's try that screaming/struggling thing again, but in a different spirit." Joren backed away, his eyes huge.
Mithros tried to speak once more, but words seemed to fail him. He held out a hand to the squirrel god, who hopped on with one last squeak to Keladry.
"He says to say goodbye to Nealan for him," Mithros told her. "And to tell him that the velvet beats the cotton hollow." He looked at the two figures. "Marcy, Jared, take her out of here," he said. "And set the barrier around the palace once you're done." With a flash of light that gave all present spots before their eyes, the two gods disappeared.
The one remaining stared at the spot where they had been for a moment, then shrugged cheefully. "Can't win 'em all," he said.
Kel shook her head and turned to the two yellow-faced people. "I'm a little confused," she said.
"We'll explain," the one called Marcy assured her, tugging at her sleeve. "Come with us-
your servant's waiting at the gates with your gear. This way."
As the two lead her from the garden, Joren screamed again. "Mindelan!" he yelled
desperately, running after them. "Mindelan, get back her! Help a fellow out!"
He felt himself freeze again, balanced precariously with his arms stretched out and one foot off of the ground. Auron smiled at him, lifting his skirt a little as he came closer.
"Whassamatter, Jori?"
Joren stared in horror at the god's smooth face, at the huge sparkling eyes, at the faint blush to his soft- ::No!::
"I need to preserve my masculinity!" he blurted out. Auron snorted.
"Sweetheart, that girl that just left was more masculine than you." He considered. "'Sides, I don't really like manly men. Too hairy."
Joren screamed again.
************************************************************************
Stefan was indeed standing by the gate, along with Peachblossom and the gelding he- Stefan, that is, not Peachblossom- had ridden. He smiled as Kel approached him, balling something furry into a small wad. For a moment his eyes rested on her two companions, curious, then he shrugged.
"Hello, miss Keladry," he said when she reached his side. "They showed ye out too, then?"
"Hello, Stefan," Kel smiled. "What's that in your hand?"
"In my- oh. This." Stefan glanced at it. "Some tall, strong fellow gave it to me, said I needed to keep it safe. Would've asked why, but he weren't th'kind've lad ye'd question on sight." He uncrumpled the object and added, "Looks a bit like a toupee, now I think of it."
Kel blinked at him without comprehension, then turned to the two figures. Stefan sighed. Sometimes you just couldn't win.
"There's something that I don't quite understand," Kel said conversationally to Marcy and Jared. "In legends, it's written that mortals take the passage between realms hard. Why don't I feel any effects?"
Marcy shrugged. "It wouldn't have been very convenient for that blond one to be fainting while he was sentenced, would it? Lord Mithros instructed us to slow the effects- they should hit you within the next week or so. Just chalk it up to a bad bout of the flu."
"If you can do that, does that make you a goddess?" Kel queried.
Marcy shook her head, looking a trifle disgusted. "Hardly. Neither I nor Jared are even slightly divine- we just clean up after those who are." She peered up at the human girl. "Is that all?"
"Yes. Thank you so much for your help." Kel smiled warmly at them both. "For explaining it to me. You've been a great help!"
"Not a problem," Marcy replied cheerily.
"Our pleasure," added Jared.
They watched the mortals mount up and start back down the road to Corus in the west. Only when they were small in the distance did Marcy ask, "So, do you think she'll realize
that we didn't actually explain anything?"
He grinned. "Nah. She's human- humans never do." He turned to go, but Marcy stayed
in place, frowning.
"Hey, we need to go set the barrier, remember? What's wrong?"
"Just thinking," she replied. "I feel like we've forgotten something..."
There was a pause, then:
"Oh, bright Mithros, the KING!"