Author's Note: Hello, everyone! Hiatus went on a little longer than intended but now we're returning with some new chapters to our story. Thanks for sticking with us during the down time and we hope you're all doing well these days. It's a tough time for everyone. We're happy that you're joining us again, or for the first time, as we get back into the tale.
Adora was getting drowsy. Summer's last few days were rallying and a stifling heat had risen to the very top of the library tower. Between the shelves of almanacs, dictionaries, and thesauruses she searched in vain for answers. Adora stared at the definition of the word 'Honor' and began reading it for the twentieth time.
"Adherence to a right or standard conduct," she yawned, "why'd he make it sound so much more important?" A crackle of energy heralded the arrival of the other two members of the Best Friend Squad. "Hey, guys."
"Ok," Glimmer huffed, "no. No more of this. Adora, this is an intervention!" Adora cocked an eyebrow at her and flipped through the dictionary. She found the word. She woke up a little and wheezed with indignation.
"I do not have 'an addiction or behavioral problem', thank you very much!"
"Adora," Bow stepped in between the two of them, "it's not that. We're not having an intervention."
"She's been running off to the library at midnight for like ten days, Bow," Glimmer said, "this is an intervention."
"No," Bow said emphatically, "this is three friends having a discussion about maybe finding a way to relax for a few days."
"Relax? For days?" Adora frowned. "What have we been doing?"
"Besides getting me flooded with complaints by the archivist?" Glimmer grumbled. "I mean there's a sign right there, Adora, 'leave re-shelving to the staff.'"
"I put them back correctly," Adora protested, "I can't just leave them all over the floor!"
"Ok," Bow clapped his hands twice, "guys, this is not healthy communication!" He pointed at Glimmer. "Glimmer, you've been on edge since Sweet Bee's refused to join the Rebellion." He pointed at Adora. "Adora, you've been running around doing who knows what because of some weird dreams you were having…" he let them both stew, "…your problems, both of your problems, are one hundred-percent valid."
Glimmer and Adora 'hmmmphed' as one but didn't interject.
"Which is why," he turned to Glimmer, "you had a really good idea that I thought you should share," he turned to Adora, "with you. See? That's all. No intervention."
"Fine," Glimmer seemed miffed she'd lost out on an argument but equally placated she was getting her way, after a fashion, "Adora, do you know what a vacation is?"
There was a flipping of dictionary pages. A mumble of words that included 'leisure and recreation'.
"I do now," Adora said, "but, guys, if the dreams I'm having could give me some idea of…" she winced as the word murderer touched her mind, "…my role as She-Ra isn't that a good thing?"
"You being well-rested, relaxed, and happy is also a good thing!" Glimmer snapped. She paused and looked at Bow.
"Good sentiment," Bow offered, "maybe a little less hostile next time."
"Adora," Glimmer said, taking a deep breath, "you are already doing a wonderful job as She-Ra." The normally bombastic princess looked away slightly. "And…I don't think I've said that to you enough. There's weapon shipments coming in from Dryl. Trade with Salineas and Plumeria. Three new princesses in the Alliance." She poofed the few feet over to sit next to Adora, shoulder to shoulder, smiling. "And every single day more people are joining the fight. Because of you, Adora, and everything you've done."
Bow settled to her right side
"We just want to remind you that you aren't alone," he said, "with whatever you're dealing with. You can tell us." Adora was struck again by the strangeness of Bright Moon. She'd been raised believing it was a den of slaves and the magic wielders who held their chains. If she'd never found the sword or worse found it and returned home she'd have marched on it in full, righteous fury.
The power of She-Ra in the hands of the Horde. She fought against the urge to panic.
Murderer. Tyrant. Liar. She was none of those things…but could she become them?
Glimmer's smile to her left, a touch shyer than the bold heart Adora knew she had. Bow's smile to her right, shining and sincere as the light of the moons at daybreak.
'Intervention.' A strange word but perhaps one she could find some comfort in. Maybe she couldn't trust herself to do the right thing but she could trust her friends to guide her.
"Wow," she said, misty-eyed, "Glimmer, that…thank you. What brought this on?"
"Well," Glimmer drew herself up proudly, "I did some very grown-up reflecting and…"
"Her mom told her off for being so bitter about Sweet Bee and asked why the guards were all saying you were running around at night."
"Bow!"
"Friends should be honest with each other," Bow winked, "but we know you meant it all." Glimmer made a face that sent Adora into a fit of laughter, when she calmed herself she looked between her best friends with unhidden affection.
"I want to do right by you two," Adora said softly, "I want to be She-Ra for you. And maybe they're just dreams but…if I could find answers…"
"Glimmer?" Bow said. Glimmer's face puckered like she'd bit into a lemon. "Come on, there's nothing wrong with a little research."
"Beaches," Glimmer blurted out, arms folding over her velvet shirt, "hot springs, and feather-beds woven by magic, Bow." Bow frowned at her and Glimmer deflated under his scrutiny. "Adora…where we're going for vacation is a place called Mystacoar."
"Ok…" Adora said, "and that's good?"
"Adora, you might've noticed that this library is a little…empty?" Adora flushed.
"I didn't want to be rude," she muttered, "but yeah you guys don't have as many books as I thought you would. Not that that's bad!" She said, smiling nervously. "The Fright Zone doesn't have any libraries. It's nothing to be ashamed of." Glimmer pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Adora, we had all those books once but they got moved. Y'know, when we became the front of a fifty year war? Well," Glimmer sighed, "after that actually. My dad was from Mystacoar and he told my mom that, if the worst should happen, at least some of Bright Moon's knowledge would be…"
She trailed off as Adora's nose almost touched hers.
"Are you saying," Adora's voice was low, thunderstruck, "all those books that you guys don't have right now are there?" Bow snickered.
"Just the Bright Moon books? Adora, I don't think anywhere on Etheria has as many books as…ok, that's a little too close." He squeaked as Adora turned her intensity on him. "Uh, if you're looking for She-Ra stuff in books…Mystacoar is where you should go?"
"Well," Adora hopped to her feet, "what are we waiting for? To Mysta-"
"We are not leaving until tomorrow," Glimmer cut in flatly, "I have to pack."
"To bed!" Adora finished triumphantly.
"It's only 4PM!" Bow protested.
"To an early dinner and then a quiet evening!" Adora began to put her books away until Glimmer and Bow physically stopped her.
Shadow Weaver loomed over her scrying basin and touched her fingertips to the thin inches of placid water. Small ripples met and shifted backwards until the surface of the water roiled like a turbulent sea. The water began to glow and slowly calmed into an image of Bright Moon Castle standing white and unassailable far across the Lake Bright Moon.
The end of the old highway wound around the lake to end at a field of refugee tents huddled close to the northern wall, within easy distance of the main gate. The seat of Etherian defiance sat there like a porcelain teapot begging to be shattered. She pressed through the surface of the water, directly into the mind of her Shadow Spy.
"Forward," she hissed, "move forward!" The spy obeyed and Shadow Weaver held her breath under her mask. The image came a few scant inches closer before it shimmered and a second-hand blast of burning pain singed her fingers. "Wretched creature! Weak!" The spy slunk back, barely holding itself together.
Shadow Weaver cursed her former student, the late King Micah, for the potency of his wards. If she could only slink inside the walls of that Castle she'd end this war in an hour. She breathed through clenched teeth at the flicker of pain in her heart.
"I will get you back…" she promised the silent room, " Adora, I won't let them take you from me." There was a soft, telepathic hiss of interest in the back of her mind. Shadow Weaver glanced at the Black Garnet and saw Dark Dream slowly billowing out of the shadows behind her, red eyes glowing with hunger. "Careful, child," she said with a fond hostility, "do not think of making a meal out of your own creator."
Shadow Weaver. Dark Dream said. Let me help you. Dear mother. Let me help…
"Now there is an idea," Shadow Weaver looked over the image of Bright Moon Castle, "I wonder if you might succeed where your lesser brethren keep failing." Dark Dream's snaking, smoke-like body twisted a little towards the door. "Ah, yes. Catra. You smelled her did you? Let's see if she's brave enough to knock this time."
She is afraid. So very afraid.
"She should be," Shadow Weaver said with a soft laugh, "oh, she should be." A single, grazing knock touched her door and a second later it became three heavy thuds.
"Hey," Catra's voice was louder but not more confident, "Shadow Weaver. I need to talk to you." Shadow Weaver curdled a little at the arrogance of her pronouncement and let Catra stew in nervousness a moment longer. Dark Dream's body rippled attentively, like a ravenous snake smelling a helpless animal.
May I have her? Please?
"No, child," she whispered, "return to your hiding place." Dark Dream floated closer to the door. Shadow Weaver's voice sharpened. "Now." She suffered a touch of vertigo as the creature slunk back inside the gem on her mask, cozying up to her mind with a disappointed rumble.
"Enter," Shadow Weaver said, the door-panel beeped as Catra passed her badge-Adora's badge, Shadow Weaver seethed-over the lock. The door opened and admitted the scrawny figure of her least favorite pupil. Shadow Weaver folded her hands behind her back and fixed her with a flat, impatient glare. Catra saluted.
"Yes?" Shadow Weaver said. "What do you want, girl?" Catra squinted around the room with deeply ingrained caution. Her fur was standing on end at her shoulders.
"Were you just talking to someone?"
"I am alone here, am I not?" Shadow Weaver said. "Tell me what you want or leave."
"I…well, I've been thinking a lot," Catra mimicked her stance, straightening her back to appear just a little taller, "and I think we can help each other." Shadow Weaver smiled in hidden triumph behind her mask. She'd settled for patience when it came to the question of Adam and now, perhaps, that patience would pay off.
"Two weeks of child-rearing is all you can take is it?" The little upstart bristled silently. "No? I am incorrect? Congratulations. I know you, Catra, and I assumed the boy would have driven you to exhaustion by now."
"Adam," Catra said the name meaningfully, "is doing just fine. He listens. But I need…the Horde needs him to be useful."
"Made abundantly clear by Lord Hordak," Shadow Weaver said, "Catra, I know you passed my door three times today," she relished the look of shock that earned, "and I know you are resisting mightily the urge to say 'I need your help'. I will spare you that and simply ask again. What do you want?"
"Adam is magic." She blurted.
"An accurate if woefully amateur assessment," Shadow Weaver said, moving towards her ward as the door slid shut behind Catra, "and you have come to the one person in the Fright Zone who understands magic, yes?" Catra scowled at the floor and then jolted as Shadow Weaver's finger brushed her cheek gently. "Really, now, that pride of yours will be your undoing. What other option do you have? I'm relieved to see you being sensible."
"So…you'll do it?"
"I have not said that, have I?" Shadow Weaver floated over to the large communications screen on the nearby wall. "Lord Hordak must be informed of such experiments." Catra's eyes widened and she took a step backwards.
"I can go if-"
"This is your idea," Shadow Weaver turned slowly to her, "and you will present your case." Catra's eyes flicked nervously from her to the screen and then, briefly, to the Black Garnet. Dark Dream keened softly at what was undoubtedly a flash of fear. Shadow Weaver bit back a growl of frustration. "Present yourself humbly, difficult as that might be for you, and the worst he will do is say 'no'."
"I'm ready," Catra huffed, taking a stance next to her.
"For your sake I hope so." She twisted the dial on the monitor and the screen slowly bloomed to life. Lord Hordak turned away from the skeleton of a machine that Shadow Weaver recognized from the blueprints she'd unsuccessfully tried to translate. The one-person flying transport. She filed away that knowledge for whatever use it might provide her.
"My lord," she bowed and was pleased to see Catra following suit, "Force Captain Catra has a matter to bring to your attention." She moved back at once, leaving Catra standing ram-rod straight, tail kinking nervously behind her.
"Be quick," Hordak snapped, "has something happened to the child?"
"No, my lord," Catra said, voice rising and dipping with anxiousness, "Adam is fine. He's…doing really good actually. He's learned a lot of names and-that's not what's important." Catra cleared her throat and seemed to rally. Shadow Weaver watched her performance with sadistic glee. "I think we would be best served," her practiced tone was evident, "if we investigated his powers…er, magical properties, Lord Hordak." Hordak turned to Shadow Weaver, impatience written across his face.
"Preliminary tests might be valuable, sire," Shadow Weaver offered, "to learn, at the very least, how precisely his abilities might manifest. In case we need to better contain or restrain the child in future incidents." Catra's head half-turned, mouth open to protest but she showed enough sense to stay quiet.
"Very well," Hordak said to Shadow Weaver, "preliminary only. Nothing that might damage him. I expect a report on this in a few days. Begin at once." He ended the call without waiting for a formal bow. Catra blinked owlishly at the screen.
"Why so surprised," Shadow Weaver said, "did you expect him to object?"
"I…" Catra shook her head as if waking up, "…what's 'preliminary' going to mean for Adam?"
Shadow Weaver's mind was already racing with such ideas. Questions crowded her mind, one after the other, on the sheer potency of their newcomer's magic. This was her stepping stone to the sword. And another piece of the puzzle that was Adora's new powers. Shadow Weaver's contentment was genuine when she answered.
"You don't need to concern yourself with that," Shadow Weaver said, "I will handle this personally. You must do only exactly as I tell you."
"But…he agreed just like. Like that!" She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
"He wants to know as much as you or I," Shadow Weaver said, "but Lord Hordak must present himself a certain way. He is our leader. He is the future ruler of this planet. Understand that before you present your ideas to him if you wish to avoid any unpleasantness."
"Where was this pep talk three minutes ago?" Catra griped.
"Shall I do everything for you?" Shadow Weaver said. "You learn best through trial-and-error, Catra, I've learned this from years of proximity. Now, go fetch the boy and bring him here." She winced at a sudden flare of furious anticipation from Dark Dream. Then fully clutched at her temples as it boiled over.
Yes! Yes! Here. Bring him! Give me the boy! Let me have him! You promised it to me. You promised it!
"What's with you?" Catra gasped. The reminder she was present gave Shadow Weaver a place to anchor her fury. A flash of the runestone magic in her system served to intimidate both her wayward charges.
"Be silent!" Catra half moved towards the door and Dark Dream cowered away from her fury. "Silence. I will not explain myself or my actions." She glared at Catra. "The boy. Bring him here at once so that I may determine how best to proceed."
Catra took a step back and then, to the mage's frustration, stood still and found some reserve of insolence. She crossed her arms with forced indifference, arching an eyebrow at her defiantly.
"Ground rules."
"You are stepping into very dangerous territory," Shadow Weaver hissed, "and you know it, you arrogant little chit. Get out and-"
"Hordak said no permanent damage," Catra cut in, finding some thread to cling to, "and I'm gonna make sure you follow that. I'm here for it all, got that? Adam doesn't stay with you for more than a few hours a day. You don't make him skip meals. He comes back with me by 1700 each day." Shadow Weaver cackled without warning but choked short as Dark Dream hissed suddenly.
Ah! Ah! The taste! Metal! Lightning! No! No amount of snarled thoughts would quiet its mewlings, which grew louder in time with a slow, stony confidence on Catra's face. Poison! Poison!
"Hordak," she said, "made me responsible for Adam. I'm doing my job. Take it or leave it." She wanted to reach out and squeeze the little brat inside a giant fist of magic. Tear a shrieked apology from her. But every pulse of her heart was making Dark Dream cower as it wailed about some horrid flavor of emotion radiating from Catra.
"Impudent," she snarled, "impudent little…very well!" Catra's shock gave Dark Dream a brief respite and it whined in relief as the magicat fell into a suspicious stance near the doorway. "Bring him. I wish to see what I am working with. We will begin his…lessons, shall we call them, tomorrow. 1200 sharp. He is mine for the afternoon." Shadow Weaver, pained at looking so flat-footed and weak, added impotently. "Woe to you if these parameters produce lackluster results, Force Captain."
"Sure," Catra snarked, "you'll make me pay for it." Shadow Weaver straightened up and shook her head to clear the confusion from it.
"Lord Hordak will not be pleased with wasted effort," she glared at the girl, delighting in the way that idea set her off balance, "and this was your idea after all." Catra looked between her and the black screen, teeth catching the edge of her lip in a nervous bite. "But I'm sure it will be alright. I hope so. Adam would be heartbroken to lose his protector, wouldn't he?"
"I'll be back," she spat, jamming her badge against the panel by the door, "make sure you're ready." Shadow Weaver allowed her that desperate broadside with a pleased hum. Dark Dream slunk forward from her jewel when the room was empty. It's red eyes trembled in terror.
Forgive. It begged. Forgive, mother. Please…
"Clearly keeping you contained is doing neither of us much good," Shadow Weaver growled, stalking towards the Black Garnet, "but it must be borne for some time yet." Dark Dream floated by her shoulder, staring in wonder at the runestone. "Stand back, child, lest you be harmed." She turned her voice on the runestone itself when she tried to draw power from it. "Enough. Do not resist me! I am your tether and I will be obeyed." There was a twinge of resistance that vanished pitifully.
Red magic crawled up her fingers in arachnid shapes of light. They entered her body and revived her in a way that food, rest, and air never quite could. She reached out, her power magnified and touched the minds of a hundred little shadow spies, spread across Etheria. Their tiny flickering brains lit up and turned towards their summoner.
"From the farthest reaches of Etheria," she said, "I command you! Be as one!" They surged forward from shaded halls, slithered out of tree hollows, oozed down from black overlooks. In seconds they traversed uncountable miles to coalesce before her in a humanoid shape. A single cyclopean eye gleamed like an orb of red glass. Vacant and unintelligent.
"Crude instruments," she groused to it, "you are crude instruments for so important a task. But I will be too busy to keep watch on Adora's movements." Her heart ached suddenly. It had been months now and yet, to her frustration, she was becoming more unhappy with the distance between them. Her mind refused to stay in one place and wandered her memories. Focusing on such odd occurrences of no real import.
Small things. Pointless things. Her head throbbed with the private humiliation of her own emotions. She'd let herself indulge in such favoritism with Adora, she understood that deep down, despite her own rationale. Adora was special, there was something in her that whispered of power and it had drawn the old witch to her at once.
Think you so much greater than all mortals? She thought with faux-theatricality. Nay, Shadow Weaver, thou art weak as any of them. As emotional. She fed her into the furnace of her anger to build a roaring fire. Adora…you ungrateful girl!
It sputtered and died at once. Any narrow attempt at fury, and she had tried many in the last few months, pierced into her memory and summoned up one of Adora's inane childhood accomplishment that seemed to douse her anger.
"Tying her shoes," she growled to herself, "I spent all morning yesterday miserable over the memory of teaching her to tie her shoes…ridiculous old woman." She glared at the great shadow spy. "Ridiculous creature." In the space behind its ghostly body she grew aware of Dark Dream lurking.
Something primal had entered its eyes as they roved its dark kin. Shadow Weaver suddenly had the thought that, in such contrast, Dark Dream was to her shadow spy what a panther was to a housecat.
Dark Dream was older. Dangerous. Far, far more hungry. The shadow spy, so empty and unemotional, shuddered suddenly with an animal caution. It floated slowly away, turning its vacuous stare on the slowly encroaching Dark Dream.
Adora. Dark Dream whispered. I was made to find Adora.
"That you were," Shadow Weaver said, the idea taking root in her mind, "but that awful boy hurt you, didn't he? Interrupted your purpose."
I can bring her back, Dark Dream whispered in her mind, driving the lesser shadow further into a corner. The shadow spy offered a weak hiss at the threat. Let me do this…then…then the boy could be mine?
"I don't see why not," Shadow Weaver said, too fascinated by her creation's display to give it much thought, "you are hungry, child."
Yessssssss. The shadow spy flared itself out to twice its normal size, eye blinking rapidly.
"Feed," Shadow Weaver whispered, "you are my favorite after all. Feed." Dark Dream's eyes flashed and it hissed something almost like language. The shadow spy quailed back, unintelligible with fear. They collided, vanishing into the confines of the room's broad darknesses.
The mage's mind was assaulted with twin souls. Hunter and hunted. Triumph and horror. Memories, dimly glimpsed, of the dark place between reality from which her powers had flooded decades ago, when she was Light Spinner of Mystacoar. Forbidden secrets hissed between the fighting shadows, words in a tongue that no sane mind could truly understand. Flares of thought that represented their concepts pain and blood in ghastly imitations of flesh.
She reveled in it all. The profane realities that she alone bore witness too. The dread powers she commanded from the abyssal dimension. The singular, natural and yet unnatural fight between her dark familiars. The fading, soul-souring wail of the shadow spy as it was consumed utterly by its greater sibling.
Dark Dream spread itself out of the darkness, a living nightmare returned to a portion of its initial strength. She could feel the intoxication second-hand and struggled to subdue her unruly minion.
"Peace," she soothed, "calmly, child, and do not be overconfident." Dark Dream circled her like a black specter, eyes flashing a deeper red than before. "Go to Bright Moon and wait for Adora to emerge."
Shall I take her then, mother? Dark Dream's thoughts turned to conquest. To manipulation. She saw the little reflection of herself in the creature's aura as clearly as a mother and daughter shared eye-color.
"No," Shadow Weaver said firmly, "report to me at once. Follow closely and I will determine our next course of action." She snapped her fingers once and the red eyes focused on her. She pointed one sharp fingernail at her creation. "Do not glut yourself on nightmares, child. Sip at their fear when it is possible. Read their thoughts when you can and pass along what you learn. Do not let them know what you are or even suspect your presence." Her pale eyes narrowed. "You go with great expectations, Dark Dream. And great expectations net great rewards…" she let a snarl creep into her voice, "or punishments."
I cannot fail you, mother. Dark Dream shrank in size, gleefully diving around the chamber like a black leaf caught in the wind. I will bring my sister home. I will.
"Go now, child," she said, "remember that light is your enemy. The shadows will protect you best."
The boy…will he be here?
"You must focus," Shadow Weaver snapped, "do not think on the child."
Only…
"Yes?" Dark Dream's eyes twinkled with red malice.
When I return…may I see? Your memories of how you'll torment him? Shadow Weaver put a hand over her heart in perfectly sarcastic shock.
"What you must think of me," she scolded, "I do not torment anyone, child. I teach. The student determines how difficult the lesson is. Now begone. Bring her home."
Need I be…gentle…with her, mother?
"Bring her home," Shadow Weaver repeated, "nothing you might do will damage her beyond my ability to repair." Dark Dream faded into the shadows and scant seconds passed before their proximity seemed to double in distance before peeling away entirely. She felt almost drunkenly dazed for a moment. Then her bearing returned.
"Alone at last," she muttered, turning to the Black Garnet, "now little Adam…what questions will he answer first?" She cleared her arcane slab and began to assemble a few mundane instruments of research. A reference book of investigatory spells. A quill and grimoire, her preferred method of recording her findings. She pulled the stopper free from an ink bottle and sniffed at the sharp, nostalgic smell. She'd have to type it up at some point but for now it was as if she were a young acolyte again.
As if she'd never fallen.
The distraction was helpful and awoke the inquisitive spark in her mind that had been her lone companion in the long years of her life. With a neat hand she wrote the initial plans for her experiments and lost herself once more in the pursuit of knowledge.
"'Woe to you'," Catra hissed to herself in a mocking voice she used only when she was certain Shadow Weaver couldn't hear her, "'now begone or I shall get out my freaking thesaurus'!'" She snarled at herself, barely noticing as a patrolling soldier suddenly turned to give her more of the hallway. "When I'm giving you orders, old lady, the first one will be you can only use two syllable words."
Asking for help was bad enough. Asking her for help was almost unbearable. The Barracks awaited her, quiet and empty, though still smelling faintly of the bodies that lived there. She opened the door and wasn't even in the room before Adam was crouched at the end of her old bunk like a big-eared, puppy-dog-eyed little gargoyle.
"Catra!" His voice was a sharp chirp of happiness. She knew he was going stir crazy, cooped up in the barracks all the time, but that wouldn't be forever. He grinned at and she felt a sudden twist of anxiety at her plan.
Too late. Shadow Weaver said Hordak's expecting it now. No turning back. Adam crawled down the bunk ladder and vibrated in place, waiting for them to leave and do something. He was desperate for action. She grinned at him, finding his enthusiasm at once hilarious and strangely entertaining.
"Been a good soldier today?"
"Good!" Adam nodded. He'd begun picking up certain words faster and Catra was pleased to see him understand 'good' was, for lack of a better word, good. She used a few signs she'd come up with to get her point across.
"Didn't try to snuggle with one of the trained killers you share a barracks with last night?" Adam shook his head. "Didn't scare anybody by climbing around the rafters and dropping down on them?" Adam shook his head. She snapped her teeth. "Didn't bite Kyle again when he brought you lunch?"
Adam paused then looked away with a shameful shrug.
"Booger, did you?"
"Yesssss," Adam said. Catra cackled and he cocked his head, waist-length hair pooling on one shoulder before cascading over his purple tunic.
"Good work," Catra said, "you're getting there." Her good humor began to leak slowly away as she considered the days ahead. "…Adam?" The boy perked up. "I…I need a favor."
"ffff ay….?"
"Nevermind," she said suddenly, regretting the attempt, "listen very closely." She tugged one of her ears gently and Adam nodded, leaning forward a little as if it would help him understand. His eyes were big and trusting. Catra looked everywhere but at them.
"We are going," on 'going' she pointed into the hallway, "somewhere else." Adam's face split with a grin. "Don't get ahead of me, booger. You have to visit with…" she brought her hands up to her face and they froze there.
A childhood of neglect, broken up by the worst kind of attention, replayed itself in her mind for the millionth time. The loneliness. The resentment. The flashes of terror lit by red light and branded on her mind with pain. All the little humiliations and injustices.
You can't! A small voice yelled in her brain; petulant and demanding and in need of someone's-anyone's-care. She'll hurt him! And you'll just let her!
It has to be this way. She thought back at it. A few days. Days. This time next week it'll be over.
"Just for a little while," she was mumbling.
"Catra?" Adam asked. His little face was all scrunched up, eyes searching her for some clue. She could tell how badly he wanted to know what she was saying and she knew, in his head, he was hoping he could get it before she had to tell him.
"With…" she swallowed the pain and the heartache. Her strength came from the rejection. Loneliness taught her independence. Resentment taught her self-worth. Terror made her sly and quick.
The glares. The harsh words. It all served a purpose. It all meant something. Catra knew it. It meant she was tough, too tough for Shadow Weaver to treat fairly. Shadow Weaver was scared of her, had always been scared of her. Shadow Weaver hated how precious, perfect Adora doted on her. Like that was her fault somehow.
What about the deal! That terrible little girl's voice again. You take care of him and the big guy helps you!
She blinked. She'd almost forgotten about that, lost in her own thoughts. A flicker of relief died in the breath of Shadow Weaver's words.
This was your idea. She was trapped. Again. Shadow Weaver had tricked her again.
"C-catra?" Adam's voice was smaller. Afraid. Catra realized she'd twisted her face into a truly hideous snarl of anger. "Sorry?" He tried shyly. Catra fought the instinct to growl at herself and breathed out slowly.
"It's ok," she sighed. "Better I just show you." She watched him uncurl from his fear and it brought an easy smile to her face that made him smile back. She nodded at the hallway. "March, booger, we've got an appointment."
As always, Adam was nearly impossible to keep in one lane. He needed to see every sight. To pause and listen at every noise. To, much to Catra's frustration, touch every object.
"Adam," she said, voice rising a small amount in warning, "put it down." She jabbed a finger downward. Adam held a scrap-collector bot, the shape and size of a dinner plate, as it's tiny metal digits danced helplessly in the air.
"Sorry," he said, placing it back on the ground and watching it scurry away. "Catra?"
"Bot." She said. "You remember 'bot'?"
"B-bot?" He frowned. Then made an expanding motion with both arms, before drawing them together. Catra rolled her eyes as she caught up to him.
"Some are big," she gestured out and then brought her hands in, "some are small." Adam pointed at her.
"B-big," he pointed at himself, "smaaaall?" Catra caught his nose softly between her index and middle finger, applying no pressure as he laughed at the contact.
"Yes, tiny booger," she said, snickering, "you are small. Pocket-sized. Tiny." She laughed. "Concealable. Like a switch-blade." This was better. If she'd told him he'd be miserable and neither of them wanted that. Better to go about this quickly. She laughed again. "Little. But you've got some pretty big magic inside. Time to find out what it is."
It was, in retrospect, the one time she'd ever laughed going to the Black Garnet Chamber. Adam puzzled at the intricate red symbol on the door. Catra ran her fingers through his hair once and gave him a careful look.
"Good," she said.
"Good," Adam replied, nodding.
She knocked on the door.
Adam watched the red jewel symbol rise into the ceiling. The doorway opened to a room of near darkness. His eyes jumped to the big red gemstone and went wide. He felt, by the hair standing up on his arms and convulsion in his belly, an incredible power crackling from it. His fingers twitched with the urge to touch it.
He thought at the Other One. Asking what it was and why it was like that. Unsurprisingly the Other One did not answer. He rarely did in the last week since he'd chosen to trust Catra and not take back his sword. It made Adam mad but also a little worried. They couldn't give up on each other could they? The Other One had always been there to protect him.
A figure emerged from behind the gemstone and Adam wished, as hard as he possibly could, the Other One would protect him right then.
"Hello there," Shadow Weaver said, "it has been some time hasn't it, little one?" Adam backed up, preparing to flee and felt two strong, clawed hands pin him to the spot. He turned unbelieving eyes on Catra. She was frowning. Adam cupped both hands over his face, hiding all but his eyes, which he turned into narrow little triangles of menace.
Then he jabbed a finger at the woman he was imitating.
"Catra," He pointed, making the masked face of Shadow Weaver once more. "Catra!" Catra's eyes became, for the barest second, hateful as they looked at him.
"I know," she said through her teeth, then faltered, "it's ok, Adam, I'm right here."
"So much for the brave little warrior," Shadow Weaver floated forward, Adam struggled only a little against Catra's hands, "the poor thing is shaking, Catra."
"He remembers you," Catra spat, "what do you expect?"
"From him," Shadow Weaver laughed, "almost nothing. But I imagine I'll learn a great deal." She crooked a bony finger. "Come here, child."
"No!"
"Ahh," her white eyes crinkled with mirth, as if the defiance entertained her, Adam's stomach twisted up, "there it is. Few people have ever said 'no' to me and suffered no punishment, Adam, but you are a rare case. I can be very forgiving if I choose." Her voice became threatening. "And if I am so inclined I can hold a long grudge. Lucky boy that you are I have decided to assist you." She crooked her finger. "Come here. Now."
The hands on his shoulder moved him forward.
"It's not forever," Catra was whispering, almost to herself more than him, "it's not forever. Just be good and you'll be fine."
"Come closer," Shadow Weaver was saying, terrible interest in her words, "let's have a look at you…"
"Catra?" Adam asked.
"Adam," her voice was stern, suddenly almost scary, "there's no getting out of this so just go." Her voice softened and sent him into another spiral of confusion. "Ok?"
O-k? O-k! No! No-no! No.
"I'm trying to help you," Shadow Weaver hissed, "and you don't even realize it. Ah, Catra, I see you've done a commendable job getting him up to speed." Her voice cracked like a whip. "Now kindly get him to listen or I will have to make myself perfectly clear on my own."
"Adam!" Adam yelped and spun in place. Catra's face was hard. "Go over there. Right now!" No change. No last minute wink or smile. No tremor of doubt. Adam didn't understand even as he obeyed, boots scuffing softly on the floor as he approached the dark figure.
Was it because he'd been bad? What had he done wrong?
Shadow Weaver was so much bigger than he was. He was so much smaller than her. Her frigid hands were on him a moment later and he felt very, very sorry for the little bot he'd been handling earlier. If it had been like this he'd never ever do it again.
She was touching his shoulders, then his arms, muttering softly to herself.
"Interesting," she said, her eyes were glowing with pallid light, "very interesting. This will need a closer look tomorrow." His brain lit up with terror.
"To…mmmmm..ar…oh." He said like the words gave him a belly ache. That meant again. That meant he had to come back! "No."
"Oh, yes," Shadow Weaver said, absently making a little cage over his heart, feeling the hummingbird-wing beat through her fingers. "Yes, little Adam, we've not even begun yet." Her fingertips followed an invisible line down to his stomach. "That is unique." Adam could stand it no longer.
"No!" He slapped the witch's hand off his stomach and leapt back, crouching and hissing, baring his teeth and daring her to risk her fingers.
"You wretched little beast," Shadow Weaver sighed, flicking her hand once, as if he was something slimy she'd plucked from a riverbed, "what should I expect? Force Captain, I believe I need your help explaining the rules to our newest soldier."
"Adam," Catra said, he whirled to look at her. She was stomping forward, arms tensed with nervous energy, "you have to listen to what I'm telling you-"
Her words vanished into a cry pain. Adam watched her freeze up, her fur spiking up all over as a sheen of red magic fell across her. Her claws curled into her palms, drawing little drops of blood that boiled away in the crimson electricity. Her pretty eyes were spasming from side to side. Her fangs gleamed, snapped tightly together behind lips curling with pain.
"Bad," Shadow Weaver's voice enunciated in his ear, she'd knelt behind him and placed her left hand gently on his shoulder. "Do you understand 'bad', little Adam?"
"Catra," Adam said. He surged forward and was wrenched back with discouraging ease.
"No, little soldier. That is 'bad'." The lightning snapped like a thousand breaking fingerbones, Shadow Weaver held out her other hand, curled like a dead insect with all its legs pointing inward.
Catra slammed to the floor, a shriek rebounding off her clenched teeth back into her throat.
"No!" Adam grabbed at the witch's hand, fully prepared to bite her arm if it would make her stop. She kept him in place with her maddeningly firm grasp and sighed with annoyance.
"Really, boy. 'Bad'."
Catra tried to form the word 'stop' and produced a noise like a train roaring through a tunnel. Adam cried out, chest heaving with his panic, utterly powerless to intervene.
"No," he moaned. He struggled afresh.
"Stay still," Shadow Weaver hissed in his ear, "no more dramatics, child. You are the one doing this to her." She jabbed one finger at Catra, making her curl inwards at fresh torment. Adam, overwhelmed, turned to bury his face against Shadow Weaver's outstretched arm, seeking whatever shelter he could.
"Ah!" he cried out as fingers tangled in his hair.
"Adam," Shadow Weaver said, "Adam." Adam strained against her then froze as understanding exploded in his mind. Catra in pain.
"Adam," he said, miserable and hateful. "Adam." His fault. It was his fault Catra was getting hurt. "B-bad."
"Few things reward the soul like teaching," Shadow Weaver's hands relaxed and Catra slumped to the floor. Soft, almost monotone sobs reached Adam's ears. He tried to step forward.
"Adam," Shadow Weaver said, a smile in her voice when the boy went stone-still at the merest sound, "best let her be. The skin can be very tender afterwards." She turned him with a gentle movement. "Now. Be good. Stay perfectly still."
Adam obeyed and hated every second her awful fingers touched his stomach. Despised the way she peered at him like he was a thing instead of a person. Despaired at every little grunt of pain from Catra as she rose shakily to her feet.
"We'll learn much more tomorrow," Shadow Weaver said, "but the boy has something inside him. A well of some kind. I can feel it drawing at the magic in the air but its weak just now." He flinched slightly when her fingers touched his cheek. "Now now." She cooed mockingly. "Don't pout, Adam. No one likes a poor loser." She dragged her finger along a little scar just below his eye. "Hmm. You understand why I did that to her?"
Adam scowled even as his eyes watered, skin wrinkling around her fingernail when she pressed harder.
"Boy," she said sternly, "Catra was in pain…" she curled her free hand again, "because of what? Who?"
"Adam," Adam mumbled.
"Who?"
"Adam!" His voice cracked as he yelled. The tears slipped past her finger, she wiped them away.
"Shhhhhhh," she offered, "hush. No need for those. She is no-one worth crying over. And you understand now. That's good. Very good." Her hand moved off his cheek and pushed away his hood. She trapped a long rope of his honey-blonde hair between her two longest fingers, like a bobbin strung with gold fibers, and ran it down gently. "Oh, heavens, this is simply not acceptable."
Adam gulped and shuffled from foot to foot.
"Catra," Shadow Weaver called over his shoulder, Adam peeked slightly back towards his friend, heart breaking at what he saw. Catra's knees were facing each other, her feet angled poorly against the floor. Her hands gripped the doorway for dear life. Her mane had been skewed wildly by Shadow Weaver's cruel magic and her face was hidden.
"Oh, Force Captain!" Shadow Weaver said in an annoyed sing-song.
"What?!" Catra choked the word out. She turned a burning golden eye on them both and it was filled with more hate than Adam would have thought a person was able to hold. Shadow Weaver rubbed her fingers together, the locke of hair between them twisting and bouncing.
"This boy's hair is straining the very boundaries of protocol. See that it is cut by tomorrow morning. Am I clear?"
"Yes," Catra coughed.
"About…" she moved her fingers up the strand, stopping when they touched the top of Adam's right ear, "here, I think. Such lovely hair it would be a shame to simply cut it all off. Don't you agree?"
"Adam," Catra gasped raggedly, "come on. We're going."
"Until tomorrow, little one," Shadow Weaver said, rising and folding her hands inside the sleeves of her robes, "I do hope you are as excited as I am."
"Adam!" Catra made him jump when she yelled. He hurried outside after her as she limped into the hallway. Her tail hung limply behind her and her hands swung low by her hips. There was a bitter emptiness in her eyes now and that made him afraid. He reached out for her and cringed back when she pulled her arm away.
"Don't," her voice was cracked and dry, tired, "its nothing I haven't dealt with." She tried a smile that turned into a full body shudder of agony. "Let's go…get you that haircut. I'll race ya…I'll…" Catra's legs stopped working.
"Oh!" Adam yelled. Her metal mask rang like a bell as she collapsed onto her face, one leg cocked at the knee under her. "Catra!" He hopped around to where her head lay and got on his hands and knees. "Catra?" He rested his palm in her hair and tried to stroke gently, the way she calmed him down. When he put even the slightest pressure on her scalp, both of her hands snapped up to snare his smaller one. He tensed.
If she was going to hurt him at least he'd deserve it. All at once, her right leg spasmed and then her left. Her fingers danced around his hand like they were playing an instrument. Her ears twitched asymmetrically. A groan billowed out from under her. The strange, limp spasms passed a moment later and Adam breathed again when Catra groaned.
"The first aftershock is the absolute pits," she mumbled and lifted her head with great effort, "hey, booger."
"Sorry…" Adam said glumly.
"Listen," she said, Adam tugged one of his ears, "that's it. You got it. Listen to her and this'll be over before you know it." She plucked at his hair. "Jeez. You really do need a trim and I don't even like haircuts. Snip-snip." She mimed scissors. "Give me a few minutes. Go…go make sure no-one comes through here, ok? Help me protect my street cred." She shooed him away and he left. Adam hoped it was the right thing to do. The good thing.
He'd already seen enough of what happened when he made a mistake.
Tomorrow. He glanced fearfully back towards Shadow Weaver's chamber and tried to swallow a ball that had suddenly caught in his throat. Catra lay motionless, her slow breathing the only sign she was alive.