Author's Note: Updates will be less frequent, because although I'm still endeavouring to NaNo this story, I'm leaving Ireland and will be traveling to France and England before getting back to Australia at the start of December. I'll still write BoaF, I just will not have much net access at all so I won't be posting all that often. Which probably means each chapter will get more editing before you see it. Aren't you lucky?
To everyone: If you are looking for a good ficcing time (isn't that a word wonderfully close to f*cking), Vinyáya is a fantastic character to play with. She creates herself, and it's an oh-so-enjoyable experience. I recommend her to everyone. And after BoaF is finished, do not be surprised if I suddenly come out with a Holly/Juliet fic with side Holly/Vinyáya, because at the time I thought of the bunny the character of Vinyáya was too obscure, but now… Blame Kitty Rainbow, I was talking to her at the time.
That which is Ritual
"The young always have the same problem – how to rebel and conform at the same time. They have solved this problem by defying their parents and copying one another."
- Quentin Crisp
Basil didn't turn, because he could recognize the voice of an Associative, a familiar and most definitely unwanted sound, the voice of someone he'd only had contact with a few bare times. And he didn't need nor want any more.
"Rune, weren't you the… you know… at E1. And, well, there were rumours about you being dead. Why didn't you say they were wrong?"
Basil did turn, in a moment of dramatics. "Because I wanted to be dead, Silcott. Will you tell anyone?"
"You're alive, Bas! Your family and your friends and everything must be worried sick and --"
"You can't tell anyone."
"I… If you say, Rune."
"You're going to tell someone, aren't you, Silcott?"
"Hey, Rune, there's nothing –"
And the punch didn't come from nowhere; it came from the rather distinct direction of Basil, going towards the very distinct direction of Silcott's nose.
"You've drunk too much, Silcott," said Basil, assuming his powerful thug-like persona as blue sparks jumped over Silcott's broken nose. "You got into a pub brawl and are trying to regain your cred. No one will believe you."
Silcott nodded, meeting Basil's eyes for only a moment before turning away in an effort to not offend the elf anymore. "Sure, no one ever believes anything I say. It's not worth saying it."
"Yeah, it's about time you realized that." Basil moved on, "see ya around sometime, Silcott. Hopefully not too soon."
"Right, right." Silcott scrambled to his feet, feet which were suddenly a whole lot steadier than they had been a few minutes before. He moved back towards the pub he'd just left, because after some events all you need is a new bout of drunkenness, because all that you'd got before had suddenly vanished leaving only a foul aftertaste.
Basil moved down the street yet again, hugging the shadows cast by buildings in a way that he hadn't been before. He hated being the thug, but it worked in a lot of situations. Imagine the chances of running into an Associative; it was Frond's Law. And so was the half-worried, half-determined figure dressed in LEP uniform that stepped in front of him. "Sir, you are under arrest for unprovoked bodily assault."
"Well, I was just coming to see you guys actually. It's so kind of you to give me a lift."
Three minutes after Holly had woken she was clamouring to be let out of bed, had insulted Artemis thrice already and had had a momentary double-take when she'd seen her commander asleep beside her bed, his head resting on the side of the over-stuffed armchair. And she had not even asked for any explanation as to the whys or hows, nor given her reactions to the hows and whys.
"You're vegan, aren't you, Captain? Except for a fondness for dolphin Juliet told me about. I could get you some tuna if you'd like - some companies have exceptionally high ratios of dolphin in tinned tuna."
"No tuna. Or dolphin, thanks. Fruit, vegetables, whatever is least--"
"Infected with polluted Mud Man-itis. You'd think we have Cooties, the way you fairies carry on." Holly distinctly didn't give a snort of laughter at him comment; she had far too much self-control. "Back on topic, thank you. You get your protein from lentils or soya, I suspect."
"Clap clap, the Mud Boy knows his nutrients. And to think you thought cholera was caused by bad smells only 180 years ago."
"I'll have Butler make something up for you, you need the energy. A soup perhaps. And you're rather lucky this Mud Boy knows his nutrients, because he just saved your life, not just your finger."
Holly pretended to ignore him, because she hadn't quite figured out why he'd do something such as that. Not because he was a bad person, but because… he had had nothing obvious to gain from it, nothing at all. Nothing he knew about anyway.
Holly was scared though, scared of how the debt would have to be repaid someday, possibly soon, possibly in many years time. But it would.
Holly didn't like it when her life was indebted to someone else – not that it ever had been before – and she especially disliked the fact that such a debt would be towards a Mud Boy as devious, dangerous and manipulative as Artemis Fowl. It was lurking in her mind already. She didn't like the lack of self-control, more than simply obligation, because with fairies bonds of life could not remain unpaid. And she would spend the rest of her life waiting for the moment when enough would have been done for the debt to be lifted – when she had done enough for Artemis, for descendants of his a thousand years hence… And until then it would sit like a 10 kg weight at the back of her mind, a constant force that perhaps she'd get used to, but perhaps she would always recognize and be conscious of – because there are some things you can't forget. A portion of her magic and mind would always be dedicated to helping Artemis whenever he may need it; constantly waiting for the moment when the Universe would call out his need and she would have to answer, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, whatever the situation or consequences might be.
She dreaded that moment, and could already feel the pressure of the days, years, centuries stretching out until she would be free once more.
She mentally prodded the part of her mind that she pictured at the base of her skull, the place her magic resided. Prodded a section of thought that she hadn't known to exist until it had nagged her the moment she had slipped into the realms of semi-consciousness, insistent until she woke to face the subject of her thoughts. And then the obligation had sunk back down again, lurking under the surface. And such a subject for her thoughts and mind and magic and Book - and perhaps it was even connected with the shifting, shimmering, slippery material of her soul - be linked to… It was an oath she couldn't break, never, the world would not allow her to, and even though her conscience would not either, it was the lack of choice that struck her still.
And… it wasn't just the one bond, it wasn't just a single strand of magic and mind and something else entirely that was linking her to her rescuer, not a lone oppressive promise that would have to be fulfilled. There were two. One to the Mud Boy standing before her, checking on the Mud Girl in the bed beside Holly who was stirring in the first stages of wakefulness, still asleep without a magic debt urging her awake. And another link to the Commander, who Holly knew to be perhaps a few rooms away, although she didn't understand how she could possibly know this. It was just as strong, just as pressing, as the one between herself and Artemis Fowl.
"Root," she announced, not really shocked at all, but knowing that it would be far more normal if she were, knowing, technically, that it was a revelation that should create shock. "Artemis, what did Julius do?"
"Since when do you call your Commander Julius?"
"Since now!" She snapped. "What did he do? He saved my life as well." And she was anxious, her voice urgent.
"He remembered about the El'veis draíocht, and how it might work to cure you. He collected it from Stonehenge with Butler."
She almost laughed. "El'veis draíocht is just a silly myth. A myth. El'veis draíocht, the Ancients – fictions of the Book. Fictions of a society that is so constantly desperate to prove itself better than the Mud People. The Book and the stories within are a form of suppressive propaganda that encourages hopeless fairies with promises of a fantastic Afterlife, so they don't get anxious about the life currently on their plate. The Book has been changed so much over the millennia, changes in rules and society, so that it fits with the current autocratic or dictator system. Propaganda and reasonings so the laws suppressing us by force and routine seem far more believable, purposeful - when they are extremely outdated, linked to ancient traditions that may have once had purpose but don't fit with society of today."
"El'veis draíocht is a myth that saved your life, Captain. You can't disbelieve everything you see written down, or everything spoken, just on the basis that it is written down, that it has been spoken. (Although, some of the only truths are those that can never be articulated.) But there is power and always a thread of truth that lies within every myth or legend. The 'top o' the mornin'' leprechaun - it's so far off, but based on truth. Sometimes things can only be understood if it is transferred into story, because then we only have to absorb it as fiction, not process it as reality."
"Come on, Artemis. You're a scientist, a planner, a Mud Man of reason. How can you believe that the fairy race was created by some bored God-like creatures who wanted soldiers for their wars? Our skeletal structure shows that we're probably the descendants of pterodactyls."
"I saw the magic – it was quite creepy actually. And it overpowered the magic in your own system, enough to ruin the disease which was being held together by magic. It ate all your magic, even. Try to mesmerize me, Holly; you won't be able to." And Artemis turned properly to face her, looking into her eyes, not scared at all that he would loose control of his own mind by doing so.
And she tried, thinking that at least then she'll be able to see if he really believes what he was saying, because Artemis was the type to never really speak his mind. And the trickle of magic at the base of her skull, which was always there, never depleted, never gone… was gone. It was shocking, and made her wonder what was forming the life-bond if not her magic, because People wonder rather odd, semi-unimportant things when faced with unknown situations.
"It's gone," she announced, as Artemis had expected her to. "My magic is all gone. Every drop, so to speak, every spark anyway. Mud Men magicians have more magic than me."
"I know, although our 'magicians' are extremely unmagical, though they know a lot about mirrors. You'll have to complete the Ritual before we leave to go Underground."
"We?"
"Yes. It's too dangerous for Brambling or I to stay up here right now. There's an assassin out there with a contract on myself, and Brambling's being monitored to see that he does the right things and his sister there," Artemis nodded towards Jac, "doesn't get any better."
Holly grunted.
"You can go to the oak-bend – 17 km away, the Commander didn't take long at all, I think he was trying to improve his record – after Butler's brought you something to eat, because you've got severely depleted resources on all counts."
"Mud Boy… Artemis… Is it long overdue for me to ask for an explanation of what the D'Arvit happened? …Is happening."
"Sit back down and I'll tell you a story."
"Don't be patronizing, I'll punch you."
Artemis experienced a momentary distraction as he remembered various well-placed hooks to his jaw. "I'm simply in the mood for stories."
--" What do you want to know? Other than the name of the Kraken babe, because I've been sworn to secrecy over that one."—
"Anything you have on the AAA and haven't yet published," replied Vinyáya. "Stuff from years ago as well, things which we might have missed recently."
"Usual price, my Lady?"
"What about doing something kind for an old friend?"
"That doesn't pay for anything other than some brownies to give to Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates."
"And don't you wish to go to Heaven, Arthur?"
"I don't believe in Heaven for two reasons. One, I am a fairy, not a Christian. Two, I believe in reality instead, and trust me, sometimes it's really very hard to believe in reality. And I wouldn't make it up there to Heaven anyway, so there's no use trying. Therefore those brownies are absolutely useless to me."
"True, true. I've already forwarded the usual to your account." Vinyáya turned back to Trouble, who was still rather amazed about all this. "Anything specific you need extra information on, Kelp?"
Trouble frowned, then pulled a rather crumpled piece of paper with a single name scribbled upon it from his pocket, because however innocent Vinyáya might consider him to be he was not above opening his Commander's mail, and he was definitely the kind of 2IC that snuck looks at paperwork while being spoken to in his Commander's office. "I need anything and everything on this fairy, Sir Martin Wollemi. Especially anyone who might have any motivation towards revenge."
"Ah, Wollemi, head of the Biochemist Guild. There's been quite a squabble going on within the guild, and the deputy leader has been rising like a nettle muffin lately. I sure we can find you something to run with though, Captain."
"Thank you."
And five minutes later they each had a screen in front of them, a screen that was searching for key words and displaying articles from all the major papers, as well as the occasional television broadcast or documentary. AAA, biochemists, Wollemi, a fellow called Straw, an internal feud between whoever and whoever - useless names, all of them. The LEP being responsible for the breaking up of an AAA meeting 40 years ago, Acting Commander Kelp an AAA, an arrest, an uprising, a victim's story, new laws being considered by the Council that would help in the fight against specieism. Nothing new, nothing that would help them bring these creatures down. And nothing which could say for sure who was responsible for the poisoning of Holly and the blackmailing of Commander Root - there were simply far too many people who would benefit from Wollemi's death, and, given the nature of the biochemist guild, all of them would be able to produce an artificial illness with enough motivation.
Trouble sunk down a little more into the comfortable seat. And time moved as slowly as ever.
Who would know anything more if the media could give them no help?
Trouble continued to skim the articles, sometimes pointing one out to Vinyáya to ask what she thought of it before returning to the mind-numbing monotony that was the ever-changing but never different information whirlpool displayed upon his screen.
There came a buzz from Trouble's helmet that had been discarded beside the chair he was sitting on. He picked it up in an instant of well-trained reaction, pulling it onto his head so that he could see the person who was trying to talk to him.
"Vein?" asked Trouble, as he saw the image of his friend holographed over half his visor.
"Ah, Trouble. Where are you? You're not at your apartment." Vein's voice was slightly accusatory, because, of course, he was seeing the video feed from the side of Trouble's helmet, which showed Beech's cluttered office.
"I'm trying to get information. In Monomedia, with Wing Commander Vinyáya."
Vein let out a low whistle at the unexpected, and Trouble turned his head slightly so that Vein would have a view of Vinyáya and Beech. "Well, you'd better get back here, Trouble. We've got someone in custody, an AAA Associative. They're willing to strike a deal and I need you for the paperwork. Let alone the questioning."
"Thanks. I'll be back at the Plaza A-SAP, Vein." And Trouble pulled off the helmet again without a goodbye, because Vein had already turned away from his com-screen as well.
"Ma'am? I need to get back to the Plaza. We've got an Associative in custody, he wants a deal. Not only do they need the highest ranking officer to give permission for any deal struck, but who knows how much information we can get out of the guy?"
Vinyáya nodded, before turning back to Arthur Beech. "These screens have the entire databank on them, right?"
"Correct, everything that has been published - or was censored so it couldn't be published - within the last 80 years. That Council of yours is very troublesome when it comes being censor-happy, you know."
"It's not my Council. If it were my Council it would be far more organized. It's most often Cahartez's Council, and he wouldn't know sense if it danced naked in front of him wearing a purple feather boa."
"If sense looked like that, I doubt anyone would recognize it for what it was."
"Perhaps it does – I've never seen it myself – which is why so many people are unfamiliar with it."
"Well, good luck, Captain, Lady Kathatríen. Nice for you to drop by when you need someone to use and abuse."
"Stop whining, Arthur, you get well paid for a few screens."
"And I thank you kindly for your generosity." He bowed, mockingly.
Vinyáya gave Arthur a smile before moving towards the door. Trouble reflected his visor before moving after her – he was still wary of all the media was linked to. On the way through the main floor he passed by the pixie with the dark roots again. She was trying to think up a good headline for her article and was asking a neighbour for an opinion on "Infiltration: What we can't see but can still hurt us."
It was about 5:30, only an hour dark, when Holly, after a meal of chickpea soup that Artemis had made her eat exceptionally slowly - although as soon as it had been presented to her she had felt the extreme hunger that had been hidden since she had woken – took off with her Commander's discarded wings towards the South West. It was dangerous to be flying this early, but it was already very dark, clouds hiding the light from moon and stars – perhaps it would be a white Christmas for the Mud Men? And she was being careful to bypass traveling over any towns or busy areas, only fields and the occasional bare access road up towards a farmhouse.
She would have waited a while longer before flying out to the oak-tree, but as soon as she got back they would be traveling on to E3, which was quite a few hours drive from Kildare, being reasonably close to Sligo in the North-West. E1 was out of action, and due to a Celtic Football match in Wexford that evening the area around E2 would be packed with Mud People. She'd just have to be careful that she wasn't seen, especially in these days of digital cameras and powerful flashes.
She was flying slowly, reveling in the feel of the air, chilled and polluted with peat fire smoke that was bellowing out of chimneys all over the county. The wings were good ones, the best pair that had been left after the Goblin Uprising - they had been appropriated by the Commander, so of course they were, because ordering people about and getting preferential treatment was one of the only perks of high command.
She didn't think of rebellions and the reversions of. She didn't remember when Frond had been anything other than a name, a name that was more related to Corporal Lili Frond in her mind rather than a royal family, if Holly were honest.
Instead she wondered how much of the Book could possibly be true, because it was unreasonable – silly really – that any of it was. Who really believed in it anymore? It was outdated, the rules belonging to a world which no longer exists. Who did believe it? No one that Holly knew, that was for sure.
But that's not true, is it? whispered a part of her mind that she had never really liked, because it always made her do things which she was desperate to ignore. Beetroot believes in it, because otherwise how could he have remembered the stories about the magic. Magic that saved my life.
But no one of Holly's generation believed in the Book. None. Not a Person. There was no reason to - they had science, technology, knowledge of evolution and physics. Though… maybe her generation were the ones who were wrong, even though they were young and cute…
It was a rather odd thought to think at all. It is always hard for the young to admit that perhaps their elders know a few worthwhile things.
She spotted the river – only a stream really – and followed it, hovering ten meters above. And there was the oak tree, its branches old and trying, the roots sinking into the earth quite deep. There was a mark of bright spray-paint on the side, and a Lucy had proclaimed her undying love for the initials HJ with carved words into the tree's side. Trees don't last forever, and love certainly doesn't. And the world as we know it changes far too quickly.
She picked up an acorn, feeling a momentary déjà vu as she remembered the hypodermic dart flying over her bent back. She held it in her hand for a moment, a comfortable memory, a familiar weight. And then she bent down for another, because Foaly's closed-acorn unit idea had been a fantastic one that had saved her trigger finger. She still had the remains of the broken Plexiglass on the chain around her neck where her barely-read Book resided. She would need another soon enough.
She took to the sky yet again, wondering if she should dare try to break her Commander's airspeed record. It was probably safe enough, moving fast enough would mean that any Mud Men had less chances of seeing her flying form. And she was fine, even after three days unconscious and on death's door. All she needed was a little exercise. She'd plant one of the acorns when she arrived back at Brambling Hall.
17.9 kilometers between here and the house, read a little device on her locator. After some quick calculations with the aid of her visor she realized that she would have anything less than six minutes to get back if she was to break the record.
She pressed the button to lower her visor and decided to move very fast. She set the timer in her helmet.
She flew. And arrived in 5 minutes and 56 seconds. She'd averaged 181 km/hr.
"Wow." She said to the cold night. "That was cool." And that didn't seem to be big enough to describe it, it needed words that were larger and meant far more. "Fantastically amazing."
She smiled, grinning from ear to ear actually. She barely remembered to bend down to the earth beside the door and make a small hole for the (slightly sweat-coated) acorn. She planted it, murmuring words that she had been trained to say but barely thought of now as she recited them: "I return you to the Earth and claim the gift that is my right."
And waited the second it usually took for the magic to come rushing up her arm, filling her with power. And waited another second. Nothing happened, nothing at all. Then, finally, a solitary few sparks made their way along the soil to her arm, disinterested, lazy particles.
She forgot the thrill of the flight, forgot the elation she had felt when she had glanced at her timer. The magic was gone. She'd lost her magic and she couldn't get it back. Her stomach twisted, her breath caught at the thought. What would she ever do if she'd lost her magic for good? She'd lose her job because she wasn't able to shield, she'd be shunned from society… She wouldn't be a fairy anymore, not really. She'd have to come up a live on the surface, pretending to be a photosensitive human dwarf who had an irrational fetish for wearing hats.
Someone powerful was not on her side recently, that much was for sure, so judging by her luck she'd end up selling favours to seedy old men.
And to think she'd thought her lot couldn't get any worse when all she'd had was a double life-bond, which was sort of like a worse and more total form of a mortgage. She had been alive for that bond to exist, and that was always a good thing… But now, without her magic… And the bonds to Artemis and the Commander would not even let her commit suicide if things ever got bad enough.
What was she going to do?
What could she do?
She looked down at her slim nut-brown fingers. Why had her magic disappeared? Was it allowed to do that?