Chapter 10- Uncharted Waters Part 1
"If I'd known you were going to be difficult, I'd have kept my mouth shut." Bengal rolls her eyes, the day Shaha kept her thoughts to herself was the day the Earth stood still. Then she takes a deep breath and steps- gritting her teeth against the pain that races through her stomach. Shaha, if anything, grumbles louder. "You should be in bed."
Bengal tightens her arm around her sister's shoulder, but doesn't say anything as they tackle the next few steps. Shaha doesn't see this as any reason to stop. Naturally. "I mean Norway is an adult- I'm sure we can trust him not to leave the house a smoking wreck. He can just cope with not being waited on hand and foot for five minutes."
"He's already been there two hours." Shaha gives Bengal a look, and her jaw clicks shut. She keeps it that way for the rest of the steps, not least because even with support, every step is agonising. The only thing stopping her from going back up to her bedroom is that- this close to the end- the return journey would be even worse. Besides, the lingering cold is unbearable. At least downstairs is full of distractions.
She can hear those distractions through the wall. She can't make out anything they're saying of course, they're speaking a language that sounds very different from Latin- though given they're neighbours they could all be speaking their own too. England doesn't seem to be saying much. But maybe that's a good thing?
Suddenly, there's a burst of searing cold through her stomach and black spots in her vision. Her foot slips, straight off the step and jamming her heel into the floor. She folds like a pack of cards, horribly weightless before crashing down the last stairs. Shaha yelps and lets her go. Pain lances through her tail bone, foot and lightnings up her back. Shaha massages her own neck. Bengal just lies there gasping.
"You alright?" Through her pain she turns her head enough to see England. His head poking around the door frame. But he only looks at her a minute before staring at her sister. Not in a friendly way either, but the way he used to look at her. Suspiciously. Her own lips flap helplessly against the pain as she nods.
Shaha, for her part, ignores the boy and helps her sit up. Gradually the pain recedes. England's suspicion doesn't.
"Stop it." She says. England blinks but doesn't respond. "England. She's my sister."
At least this time he looks at her, eyes shockingly cold in the warm light. She doesn't shiver and holds his gaze, after a moment he shrugs, and turns away from both of them. Bengal sighs.
"Rude little thing isn't he?" Shaha remarks in Bengali, voice light. Bengal feels her neck heat up.
"He's not good with people."
"No shit."
England's staring at them again. At Shaha, actually. The heat reaches Bengals neck- he can probably tell they're talking about him. But when she tries (and fails) to stand, both immediately take an arm each. Even so, their radically different heights mean she needs a moment to find her balance.
They hobble into the kitchen, and Bengal gets a look at their guests. There's no question the younger one is England's brother. Despite the henna-red hair there's a familiarity to him- from the set of his nose and his bright green eyes, to the ridiculous eyebrows too big for his face. Even his thin mouth, which twists to a smile when she walks in. He's not much younger than she is, really- but he's gawky like a teenager. He blushes under her scrutiny.
Which meant the other must be Norway. He was older than her- though again not by much, and clearly younger than India. He looked like he'd been carved from salt. Technically he isn't much paler than the brothers, but his cheeks have none of the redness to them that theirs do- even his hair is practically white. He just nods and pulls up a chair for her.
They sit down at the table. England on one side, Shaha on the other.
The silence is cloying. Or it is for a moment, and then it becomes greetings. Between Pakistan and Norway- no one else is included because no one else speaks the language they are using. Scotland sighs, leaning back so his chairs front legs are in the air. She looks at Norway.
He kept looking at her too, so does Pakistan. She shivers.
"Are you cold? Do you need another jumper?" Pakistan switches immediately. Norway's voice dips with audible concern- and her sister snaps back at him in the language they were using. Bengal swallows a sigh. She's not that sick. Her sister just gives her a look though- and carries on. "I could get England to get it for you-"
"I'm fine." Her voice is level, and she can feel her back muscles knot up and her cheeks heat under the combined stares of the entire table. "What's Norway saying?"
Her sister's face scrunches up in frustration. "Nonsense. Apparently Ruqyah is a bit too difficult for him to wrap his head around," she waves her hand loosely, "don't worry about it."
"Why, what's his problem?"
Shaha rolls her eyes. "He's dense and narrow minded. Don't let it worry you."
Bengal bites her tongue. There's simply no point arguing with her sister when she's like this. It's infuriating. Instead she nudges England. He doesn't actually look at her, but instead leans on her like a small, knobbly heat pack. It'd be quite nice if he didn't look like he was trying to make his brother combust with his eyeballs, but she'd take what she could get. Around her, Norway and Shaha's argument - though polite, probably, continues unabated. Actually, perhaps coming down here wasn't such a good idea, the spots are back and everything feels slightly muffled...
"So," Bengal snaps back to reality at Scotlands voice. "India."
Is that a question? She's not sure. "Yes?"
"He's your brother."
She turns to look at him, body aching. He seems sincere. "Yes? He drove you from the airport." She racks her brain for what he might want. "Did you have a nice trip?"
He shrugs and stares her right in the eyes. She doesn't shuffle uncomfortably, but only because it would hurt. Next to her, England actually growls. "Scotland-"
"England~." Scotland mock-whines and rolls his eyes. "Seriously Wart, I can't even talk now? Actually, better question. How do you put up with him?" He jabs a finger at her. She stifles the fleeting urge to slap it away.
"I wasn't aware there was anything that needed 'putting up with'," She lies. Then sniffs haughtily to complete the effect. He rolls his eyes. Again. Seriously, does he not know any other facial expressions?
He opens his mouth-
WHAM.
She jumps and immediately regrets it in every cell of her body. It was only Norway anyway - putting his mug down far harder than was needed. Judging by Shaha's white knuckled fist- didn't that hurt? - Bengal isn't inclined to say he's the problem just yet. Between them is a slip of paper with some runes drawn on it.
She sighs. Immediately Shaha turns and starts fussing, smoothing her dress and fixing her scarf where it goes over her shoulder. Like she's barely out of the second century. She blushes - England's staring at her, and she can hear Scotland laughing under his breath. She practically slaps her hand away, even if Shaha's hurt look makes her stomach twist and flop. She takes a deep breath.
I am seven hundred years out of time. She is seven hundred years away from the woman she was. She is here to help. Calm down.
It only takes a moment, and she can talk sensibly again. Her sister relaxes when she smiles at her, uncoiling the fist she'd remade. Bengal can see deep gouges in her palm where her long nails had bit into her, though thankfully none of them were bleeding. (Seriously, why the long nails though? They weren't like her at all-)
She breathes again, and asks. "What's with the spellwork there?" Shaha makes a face like she's swallowed sheeps piss.
"Nothing worth knowing about. It's just-"
"That's a translation array." England pipes up. Shaha visibly slumps, and Bengals eyebrows shoot up to her scarf.
"-it's just Norway may want to use a semi-permanent translation spell to talk to you directly," she mumbles. Bengals eyebrows shoot up even higher. But her sister just turns and snaps-
"-which is no reason to eavesdrop England."
"It's right there! It's not eavesdropping if it's right there!" He waves at the table emphatically before turning to Bengal, who's beginning to feel a bit ragged really. "You tell her Bengal."
Makes her remember why she normally hides in the library back home. She sighs. "You put it on the table sister, you can't expect-"
"Wait, since when do you know how to do arrays?" Scotland's voice is sharp, but not directed at her. She stifles the urge to sigh again.
"Maybe I've always been able to do them and you've been too thick to notice, wouldn't be the first time." The boy shoots back in a nasty, sneering tone. Bengal can feel herself losing her temper.
"England." He gives her a look of such overwhelming, woebegone, exhaustion that -
"Yeah right, you-"
"It was probably in one of the books we pulled out of Englands laboratory!" She snaps, breathing harder than she should be, before slumping back into the chair and suppressing a little groan. She feels a little bad, perhaps for interfering but frankly Arthur is going a funny shade of puce and she does not need an actual fight on her hands. Apart from anything it'd be embarrassing if India woke up to find she couldn't keep them contained for five minutes.
She puts a hand on England's shoulder to calm him. He shrugs it off at Scotlands snicker. She glowers at the absolute brat across the table. Norway coughs. He is ignored.
"What exactly is your problem?" Her voice is frustrated and her face is burning.
Norway coughs again, cutting off both her and Scotland, Norway poking him in his bony ribs. It is brief but full of irritation on Scotland's part and scrunched eyebrows on Norways (it looked like fond exasperation, but it could just have been the sun in his eyes). After a deep, beleaguered sigh, Scotland switches back to Latin.
"Norway wants you to use the translation spell so he can understand you better. His Latin's a bit shit."
"Absolutely not." Shahas voice cuts in, low and angry. "It's haram. And besides, can't you see she's ill-"
"I'll think about it." The words are out before she can stop them, and she snatches up the paper as well. Turning it over in her hands she can see the paper's so thin that the ink has bled completely through it, creating a perfect copy of the circle and runes on the other side. She can feel Shaha's scandalised look on the side of her head. But frankly she's all out of energy and patience. "How does it work?"
Scotland perks up, "It takes a little of the casters magic and a bit of yours to create a link that will let two or more people hear what's being said in their own languages -"
Or maybe not.
"Or you could just translate for me." He sighs. She supposes it must be disappointing for him- but it is haram. England tenses like a guard dog. But Scotland ignores him.
"Seriously, why even bother?" it's mostly under his breath, but apparently even that's too much for England.
"She said no, arsehole! Learn to take a hint." England growls. She sighs.
"Yeah 'cause your a fucking master of that aren't you Runt?" Scotland snaps back. "Fucking impeccable manners havn't you? Sweet little lamb." It's full of so much sarcasm she could probably bottle it. She sighs again, this time with feeling. Norway and Shaha put their heads in their hands. They are all ignored.
"You're just a poor unfortunate soul aren't you? No matter that you're constantly in the shit. None of it's ever to do with you is it?" Scotland continues bitterly.
England flushes again, and she grabs his shoulder. It doesn't stop him running his mouth though.
"Nothing happened!" Arthur's perilously close to yelling, and frankly Bengal's not sure whether she should stop him or not.
"You really expect me to believe that? When the Old Bastard here got woken up in the middle of the night and bolted across half of Europe to get here?" Scotland has clearly stopped paying attention to Norway's quiet attempts to calm him and shoves his hand off his shoulder roughly. "I heard your name idiot. What. Did. You. Do?"
"NOTHING!" England's on his feet, though even standing up he has barely a head of height on Scotland - whose being held in place by Norway's hand on his shoulder, looking unnaturally stiff. She shivers at the display of casual magic. The only thing keeping England in place is her hand around his wrist.
England's panting like a wild thing. Bengal's mostly sure he won't hare off and thump a downed opponent. Mostly.
Best get him out of the room though. She squeezes his wrist. He turns to look at her. "What!"
She doesn't take it personally. "Do you want to go and check on India?"
He blinks once, twice- eyes clearing. He nods and storms out, snatching his hand from hers with a sharpness that's equal parts frustrating and hurtful. Anger coils up in her gut. Norway releases Scotland from whatever spell was holding him. Her everything hurts.
"That went well." she snaps at the brat. He shrugs, looking slightly abashed.
"Sorry you had to see that." he says. Then he points at the translation array crushed in her hands from the shock and pain. "Are you gonna use that or not?"
She jams it in a pocket. "I said I'll think about it!"
"How many, sir?"
"All of them, private"
He awakes with a jerk and a yelp- reeling away from the green eyes hovering over him like a nightmare. Arthur jerks away. Then India registers the clear light, the hard sofa and the dusty smell of England's lounge. He swallows the taste of cordite-
Screaming as people are ripped apart by cannon fire. The bodies lying unburied, mutilated or worse-
He runs his hand along the sofa to ground himself.
"Are you ok?" Arthur's voice is trying to be impassive, but so thankfully childish. And worried. India lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, sits up properly-
And slumps, groaning as pain throbs up the entire length of his spine and popping his neck as he moves it.
"Owww." Arthur approaches looking properly worried now, but India sits up and waves him off, rubbing his own neck to try and un-cric it.
"I'm fine," he says, then yawns. Arthur clearly sees this as a sign he can draw closer- within arms length even (there's a sympathetic twang in his chest)- and lets himself flop to sit on the floor. Today, for some reason it seems strange for him to be on his own. India has to blink a few times before it comes to him. "I thought you were with Bengal?"
And that brings back- Norway, Scotland, Pakistan. He groans again.
England blushes and looks down at his feet. Then he starts ripping up the carpet fluff and mumbles something so quietly that India can't hear a word of it.
"I can't hear you if you're mumbling," he says eventually.
"I'm sorry." The kids face is stony and his shoulders are tense. He looks exhausted. India scrubs his face with his hands. Arthur flinches. India puts his hand down.
"You've got nothing to be sorry for." Arthur blushes and looks away. "Unless?-"
Sullen silence.
"I made you a promise, and I meant it. If there's something wrong, you need to tell me so I can help." His voice is deliberately low and quiet, the way it would have been for any of the colonies if they'd broken a vase, or for one of his stray cats back home.
"Got inna fight wi' Scotland." England's actually beginning to create a little bald patch on the carpet. "He's being a prick. An I lost my temper an' just left Bengal there to put up with him-"
"She's an adult, she can look after herself." India cuts in quickly. A coil of dread knotting in his stomach and the taste gunpowder on his tongue.
"How bad was the fight?" he says. Please don't let me need to call another ambulance.
England continues to de-fluff the carpet rather than look at him.
"I didn't punch him or nothing. We just shouted a lot. Then I left." The kid shrugs and peeks at him through his lashes. India sighs.
"Well that's something at least." He considers for a moment, then puts his hand on the boy's shoulder- the kid doesn't flinch. "Well done for walking away from him. It can't have been easy for you."
England looks up at him properly now, shock written in his wide eyes and red face, a smile flickering at the edge of his mouth. India relaxes, then stands- wincing as his back whinges at him some more.
"Alright, let's take a look at the damage." England nods, in reply and stumbles to his feet. And together they walk into the kitchen.
The damage, it turns out, is minimal. Physically, there's only one overturned chair, and a damp spot on the table where something had been spilled and hastily mopped up. He opens the bin- no shards of china there. There's a mug isolated in the sink though, whole and undamaged. Of course, Pakistan is tapping away at the table rapidly and Norway is playing on his phone while Bengal and Scotland glare in opposite directions in oppressive silence. So. India suppresses his second sigh of the day. And contemplates setting himself a quota.
The windows are unchanged too- which is a shame because the room's an absolute hothouse. He marches over and opens the window over the sink to let a waft of fresh air, birdsong, and car horns into the dining room.
"Go grab yourself a seat," he says to Arthur in French. He turns to the wider room "Does anyone want some tea?" he asks in Latin, then again in English.
"We've had some." Pakistan snaps, tapping her fingers even faster, as Norway takes a surly sip of tea. And at least Pakistan and Norway respond. India fights the urge to just march out of the room and go and get some more (hopefully better) sleep. Instead he puts the kettle on and drums his own fingers on the table.
"So what happened?" He asks in Latin. He gets a wall of sounds back- his little sister gesticulating angrily and Scotland scoffing at her,only to be shouted down in turn by England- India puts his hand on the boy's shoulder, and he rolls his eyes, and slumps down with his hands slapped over his ears. Frankly India wishes he could do the same.
Even Pakistan makes a few comments, though she's completely drowned out by the dim. It mostly seems to be about magic -of some sort- being used- or not used- in some -possibly- bad yet highly unspecified way. And apparently Scotland didn't like India? Which, fine? As long as the boy was respectful that was firmly not his problem. The only one who doesn't speak is Norway, who can't understand a word of it, and who just huddles against the wall, hiding behind his phone.
In short, it's clear as mud. In deference to his maybe quota, he holds his sigh inside.
"Ok I think I get the picture," he lies. He pours himself a cup of tea and takes a slurp, letting the heat soak into him and clear his head a little. Then he turns to Norway.
"What's going on?" he repeats in English.
Pakistan snorts and rolls her eyes. India ignores her to instead wait for Norway's response. But the guy only shrugs.
"No idea, I've been trying to find what happened with Bengal and England but your sister-" he looks pointedly at Pakistan, "-hasn't been very open about it."
India takes a mouthful of tea, ignoring Pakistan's glare as she says, "I've already said everything I know. But somebody didn't think I needed to know about England. "
The accusation burns, but India keeps his voice level. "Maybe because you don't."
Pakistan rounds on him. "Are you serious right now? I'm supposed to be helping my sister and you figure I don't need to know- " She throws up her hands in disgust. Bengal and England are looking between them with undisguised nervousness, whereas Scotland's eyes are boring into the side of India's head - like he could set him on fire with gaze alone. He feels his face heat up as Pakistan continues ranting. "- Did you hit your head last night while I wasn't looking? O-"
"- We're just saying that your message was very ominous." Norway cuts in with a startled look at Pakistan, as if she's ever reasonable nowadays. "And I, for one, was concerned."
India takes a deep breath and unknits his eyebrows so he's no longer scowling. "You don't need to be - we've come to an.." agreement? Promise? "An understanding." He clenches his hand around the phone in his pocket. "The situation isn't an emergency anymore. We can discuss it later."
Pakistan scoffs, and taps her fingers on the table so fast they lose rhythm and just create noise,
Norway frowns at him. "Why? If we get it out of the way now and nothing needs changing then it's done. If it does, then we'll sort it either way."
Proper irritation floods him then, making his head throb and his voice snap. "I sorted it out before you got here." He takes another mouthful of tea. "Trust me there's nothing more that can be done at the moment." Unless you have the Thakurs phone number, which you don't. But that's not an emergency.
"But-" Norway continues. India interrupts him.
"And I don't want to discuss it here." He jerks his head at the combined kids. All three of them stare at him as Pakistan rolls her eyes and Norway puts his empty mug down. India swigs down the last of his to drown out his annoyance.
"Do you want another one?" He points at Norway's mug. The man nods, and India swoops over to the kettle - ignoring Pakistan's proffered mug and her muttered insult in Urdu. Mostly it gives him a moment to calm down from Norway being upfront about England's problems. Hypocrite. But the frustration fades as quick as it comes because, at the end of the day, he's here to help. He pours two teas and loads a plate up with ginger cake before returning to the table.
"They've already got fig rolls." Pakistan says in English, scowling.
"Yes, but they prefer ginger cake." He says flatly, in English, setting the plate down with a clink.
Norway sighs, accepting his tea with a word of thanks.
"So, Bengal?" he says.
There's a moment of uncomfortable silence, before Norway throws his hands up in general exasperation as Pakistan avoids looking at the pair of him. India stares at the pair of them and- fuck the quota- sighs.
"Shall I get you her notes from upstairs?" Norway nods and India fetches them, swearing under his breath as his back and neck protest all the way there, and at the general unhelpfulness of his unexpected guests. When he gets back he sorts them into two piles- one for Bengal, the other- much smaller one- for Bangladesh. "Here, her handwriting's a bit of a mess but we should be able to clear up anything you don't recognise."
While Norway quietly begins a chant, holding up a silver magnifying glass that glows with a faint blue light, India turns to his sister.
"How are you?" he asks softly in Bengali. She smiles briefly, and shrugs, then winces. She still looks tired and pale, but was clearly no longer in the kind of excruciating pain that she'd been in last night. It's not a lot but it's something. "How come you're out of bed?"
"Sore, but otherwise fine," says Bengal as she rolls her eyes. "I figured that we might as well try and figure out what I actually did."
"You couldn't have predicted it," he corrects gently, relieved by how stable her voice sounds.
She shrugs and smiles sheepishly. "I suppose. And you don't need to worry so much."
"I know." He reaches out and holds her hand. "I just worry sister, I know you can handle yourself but." The words are too personal to say in front of Pakistan so he swallows them down painfully. "I'm glad nothing permanent happened."
Bengal flinches. Pakistan and Norway are discussing the finer points of Ruqyah. Arguing, rather. Again. He sighs.
"What." He switches back to English.
"Nothing. It's fine," says Pakistan, at the same time as Norway says, "Could you help me understand what happened last night? Apparently most of it is only need to know. "
He shoots an icy look at Pakistan and continues. "And apparently I don't."
Pakistan snorts and rolls her eyes. But India grips his mug against the annoyance prickling in his chest, and shrugs.
"I can take you through it just fine." He explains what he knows, and what he suspects about Bengals fit last night and the emergence of Bangladesh, but he quickly changes to translating for Bengal. He switches from Bengali to English and back again, testing the words in his mouth before saying them, both wanting to be clear and swallowing around the lump in his throat. It takes a long time. The clock hand moves relentlessly across the clock's face, and the sun moves stubbornly across the sky. At one, India takes a break to make them more tea and rest his voice.
He can feel all of them flagging- England is drooping despite his rigid posture. Scotland gets so frustrated he jumps up and marches out of the kitchen and into the garden, pacing back and forth like a caged thing. Even Pakistan's glower into her tea becomes hooded and bored. But Bengal and Norway are alert, interested and firing off answers so quickly it's a struggle for India to keep up with them.
It seems, to both of them, that this is new information.
Which is….frustrating. He keeps his eyes on the pair of them, and nowhere else, though his knuckles ache from gripping the china of his mug so hard.
He's part way through translating the reasons why magic unraveling normally comes with backlash that Norway interrupts to talk to him. "This would be a lot easier if I could just talk to Bengal directly-"
Pakistan groans and buries her head in her hands. "-Oh god not this again."
Norway gives her a flat look. "If I'm here to help I need to understand what she did. She's the best person to do that. And if she could make sense of her own notes-'' He gestures at the pile with a wry smile. Which is a bit unfair, Bengal handwriting is not that bad. "And I still don't feel I properly understand why Ruqyah works the way it does. She might be able to explain that."
Norway turns to India. "So, what do you say about a translation spell?"
India sighs, knuckles now hurting - again. "No."
Norway doesn't turn away though, "could you ask her for me again though?-"
"She said she'd think about it, is that not enough for you?" Pakistan snaps. Unbelievably, India even agrees with her. "If you want to know how it works you could just listen to me."
"Or observe you." Both of them turn to stare at him. "Norway makes the spells and you break them?" They both blush bright red and hide themselves in their coffee mugs. For a moment there's a long enough embarrassed silence that India can think about everything else that needs doing. Perhaps, given it had been three weeks he should even do some cleaning to make the guest rooms habitable. But eventually Norway turns to face him again.
"Ok. Im sorry." He sounds genuine, and India relaxes his grip in shock. "No using the magic or casting spells. However, would it be possible for me to measure her magical signature?-" Before India can say anything he powers on. "-There's something very strange about it, but maybe if I can measure it I can figure out what's actually happened."
Silence. The only sound is car horns and birds through the window. And underneath that the sound of Scotland throwing rocks in the garden. "She wouldn't have to use any of her own magic, it'll be completely halal- I promise."
India blinks, and looks at Bengal, who's visibly shivering despite the cloying heat. Pakistan shrugs out of the corner of his eye. He ignores her. It's not her view that matters. Then he switches to Bengali. "Hey, Norway was wondering if he could measure your magic. You won't be casting any spells yourself. He thinks it'll help him understand what happened last night."
She looks Norway straight in the eye. "He promises? Only he'll use magic?"
India relays this. Norway nods. "Yes."
"Ok then."
It takes a bit of shuffling around for her to be able to reach Norway across the table, and when he places his hands palm up she pauses- frozen- before placing hers on top. There's no array, no ingredients- hardly even a chant, just a single rhythmic syllable from deep inside Norway's throat. Nothing seems to happen. .India fidgets with his mug - it's not surprising, it doesn't mean anything, there's no reason why magic must-
His breath catches. A line of electric blue light rises from Norway's hand, passing straight through Bengal's to hover above it, leaving a trail like the Northern Lights as it sways from side to side. Then another, and another. Their pale, luminous blue form threads that waft and weave light over Bengals wrists, till her whole hand is covered in complex patterns that sway to the throaty singing. India's own knuckles are white around his mug, but the lights don't even touch his sister after they pass through the first time, and she seems unharmed. The lights reflected in her wide eyes.
But Norway looks concerned. It doesn't show in his voice- which is stable, but there's a groove between his eyebrows and a new, hard edge to his mouth.
Eventually the lights start to dim, then vanish. India looks up from where he'd been checking his phone, and blinks to help his eyes re-adjust to the relative dimness of the dining room. Bengal retracts her hands fast, then flexes them experimentally, quirking a single eyebrow at Norway. She looks...fine. He checks his phone again.
Despite it taking an hour and fifteen. He looks at his little sister, slightly worried.
"I'm fine." she says it quickly as she turns her hands over again. "I feel just the same."
Pakistan cuts in with English. "So what's the verdict?"
Norway frowns, swallowing heavily, and taps his fingers on the desk. India's stomach starts to coil again. He can feel his palms start to sweat. Even Bengal starts to look unnerved as Norway's silence stretches out, and she leans over to whisper in India's ear,
"What's wrong?"
India just shakes his head.
Eventually, Norway speaks. "It's strange. Physically she's fine." He pauses to let India translate to Bengali, then Latin for England. "But. Her internal magic is depleted- so low I'm surprised she's even standing. And her connection to her people, it's not just stretched it's under a tremendous amount of pressure." He looks very worried for a moment. Before turning to England and slipping into a language that's all hard consonants. The boy stiffens and immediately looks to India- his face would look uncaring if not for the wideness of his eyes.
"Is everything ok?" he asks in Latin. The kid shrugs.
"He's asking if it's ok if he measures me like he did Bengal." The kid's fiddling with the end of his shirt undermines the confident tone somewhat.
"It's ok, it looks safe." England rolls his eyes and plonks his hands down on the table with a beleaguered sigh. After a brief pause Norway takes them, and begins his singing over again. The blue lights rise, and then in partner, some green ones bleeding out from England's skin. India doesn' know what that means, but the green lights seem pale and stilted in comparison and England squirms, face going red.
It barely takes five minutes for him- which makes India's stomach twist up all the more. When he's done England snatches his hands back and bolts from the room. Norway's face has gone downright stormy.
The atmosphere's so tense that even Pakistan doesn't make any snide quips. India can feel his breath shortening, the mug becoming even more slippery under his hand. Eventually he can't take it anymore.
"Is he the same?" He fights to keep his voice level.
"Yes." Norway takes a hurried gulp of tea. "England actually knows how to use his magic so it's more responsive, hence the lights, but yes. They're the same."
Quietly a little hope blooms in his chest. "So what's wrong with them then?"
Norway looks at all of them, each in turn. Mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"I don't know."
The air is punched out of India's lungs and the gap and makes him sick. His stomach churns so fast he can't make himself break the silence, even to translate for Bengal. So Pakistan does it. She does it adequately actually, and Bengal sounds- not shocked, but quietly resigned. India swallows around his thumping heart, and stands up. "I need to go find England."
It's on the first floor he lets himself finally feel what he's feeling, They come in waves. Guilt, anger, fear, guilt, anger, fear. His palms are sweaty and his heart feels fit to explode. And his head's stuck in a wheel of Bengal, England, the Thakurs. He checks his phone again. Nothing. His brain start to run to fever pitch and-
No. no. He takes a slow breath in through his nose, and out through his mouth. And another and another…
His breathing slows, his heart settles down. His brain...goes quiet.
"Are you ok?" says Norway.
India yelps and snaps his head round. Norway is right behind him and must have moved like a cat in slippers, because the stairs are loud enough to wake the dead. Norway peers at him unblinking, quirking his head slightly to the side like India is a particularly confusing puzzle he wants to take apart.
"I'm fine."
Norway nods, but doesn't say anything just stands there, occasionally looking down the corridor without even a flicker of a smile. It makes India twitchy.
"Do you want to see Bengals room?" he says just to break the silence. "I think there's something you should take a look at."
Norway nods. And he takes him there- Norway's eyebrows shoot up at the black mark on the carpet.
"I thought I mis-heard that part," he says. Then his eyebrows come back down into a worried frown as India shows him the burn marks on the duvet. He takes photos while India recounts what caused each mark. England pokes his head round the doorway. He looks fine, but India takes the excuse to leave Norway to take his pictures alone.
"Are you ok?"
England scoffs. "I'm fine, it just felt a bit weird is all."
"You sure?" he says. England looks ok, a little pale but nothing else. England rolls his eyes at him, then glares around his side. He checks and sure enough, Norway's done. India takes them both to the laboratory.
It is a state.
Even magic blood rots eventually, and the array had started to brown and blacken in places, taking on the stinking edge of decay. Even the iron powder had rusted. Norway takes one look at it and reels back- declares the whole thing a health hazard and asks why they hadn't cleaned it away weeks ago.
"Strangely." India says through gritted teeth. "I was a bit distracted."
"Wuss." England mutters under his breath. India fights a little smile at Norway's offended look.
Still, it doesn't take long to get boiling, soapy, bleach water and slop it over the floor. This doesn't clear the mess of course, just whips it into a stinking, frothy red-brown mess that burns his nose and throat. But it loosens the gore so something can be done about it.
Thank all the Gods for Scotland's spare fishing waders. England in particular looks skeptical, mostly because between them and the adult sized marigold gloves he looks like he's been eaten by a tent. But he scrubs hard and efficiently at the tile when they give him a sponge. Less brilliantly, he applies the same energy to glaring at Norway. India gives him a look. He pouts at him.
"So," India says, because twenty minutes in and cleaning is as deathly boring as it's ever been. "Is there actually anything useful still here, or have I been procrastinating for nothing."
Norway stares at him, like he's trying to see right through him. He stares right back, trying not to let his frustration show. His pocket buzzes. He stays very still. Norway sighs and gives up. "Technically no, the only thing interesting about this array is that it crossed dimensions and bought a creature back. That and the diary tells me it had to be right before the meeting because it was a full moon."
"But-" India's stomach curls up on itself.
Norway sighs, and turns to scrub even harder at a stubborn bit of gore. "Their magic, it's not just depleted, it's being drained." India's hands clench and he carefully controls his breathing. In. Out. "If they were both magic users I'd say it was by a spell but-"
A pause.
"You still haven't told me what you meant by your text."
India puts his sponge down, because if he grips it any harder he'll tear it. England is oblivious, of course he is, he can't speak his own language- so he's scrubbing away, dripping soap and blood. India still turns to him. "Arthur, could you start tidying the bedroom please."
Arthur opens his mouth, eyebrows creasing sharply. India interrupts "Dry yourself off first. I'm not going anywhere."
Perhaps it's a testament to their new understanding, perhaps it's just luck. But Arthur clicks his jaw shut and does as he's told, sloughing off bloody waders in a pile in the doorway and mopping up the flecks on his face. Norway waves a hand and suddenly India can no longer hear the birds. England stiffens and flowers, before turning lamp like eyes to India. Again that uncomfortable feeling from last night is back, and that knowledge that if he even looks uncomfortable Arthur will 'defend' him.
It's a really good job he put that sponge down.
He smiles and waves instead. It does the trick. With Arthur gathering broken things and piling them up outside the ...silencing spell? Norway turns to him, expectant. It takes India a moment to find the words.
"What did you mean when you said he doesn't play nice with kids his age?"
For the first time, Norway looks confused. "Why-"
"Because you were very vague and frankly it's been one thing after another with him." India's blood is roaring in his ears. "And yesterday he stabbed someone."
Norway's eyes are wide with horror. "Shit."
Fucking- "Yes! Shit! Indeed! But don't worry, by shear dumb luck he didn't do any permanant damage - and hey! I'm already healed- perks of being a nation -" he spits it out like poison, "-but the humans, well- Ishaan Thakur will regain the full use of his hand but they were the only good leads we've had through this entire fucking thing. And Padma gave me some very good advice-" He takes a deep breath, blinking rapidly. "It's not like they sell 'Sorry I Stabbed You' cards at Tescos!"
Norway opens his mouth. India raises his hand like a gunshot.
"-and I don't think that kid would know how to give an apology no matter what way he gave it. Do you know the only thing he was angry about was doing his job? Apparently his King had him beating and torturing people, even his own siblings."
"So." He brings his face closer, and hisses. "What, exactly, did you mean when you said he doesn't play well with kids his own size?"
For a moment Norway just sits there, grey faced, his sponge motionless in his hand. The only sound is it dripping on the floor. Eventually he finds his voice. "That must - that must've been awful-"
"It'd have been less so if I'd actually had the information I'd needed in the first place."
"You're blaming me for this?" Norway squeaks.
India pokes him in the chest, practically nose to nose with him. "Weren't you the one who knew him as a child-"
"-I wouldn't say known-"
"Weren't you the one was convinced that I'd be the best person for the job?"
"You volunteered!"
"But mos of all, weren't you the one I asked for help when I was going to be looking after the man who used to beat me bloody, only to be told some vague bullcrap that means less than nothing, and gave me no warning at all that the kid's a flipping mess from the top of his head to the tip of his fucking toes!" India's throat burns like he's swallowed razors as he gasps for air. And then there's silence, and India can't stand to look at Norway anymore.
He can feel tears running down his cheeks. He can't even wipe them away because his hands are covered in filth. He tries to slow his breathing. In. Out. Root himself in the here and now. Norway's got a point. He did volunteer. Like a fool. It doesn't make his blood settle down at all. He keeps breathing.
"I'm sorry." Norway says. India's breath halts and he blinks, blood still heavy in his ears as he tries to untangle it. "I didn't consider the impact on you, and I should have. I just thought you might already know, considering- "
He barks a harsh, short laugh. "Well I didn't. He never told me a damn thing."
Another pause. India can hear the quiet slosh of water behind him and can only assume Norway's moving. "That wasn't a criticism." Moved towards or away from him? India would get away. He feels radioactive and ready to implode. He just breathes in and out.
A hand is placed on his shoulders and he whips round to look at Norway, tears dripping from his chin. Norway doesn't sound, or look angry, he's just bundled up in a crouch with his face scrunched up in sympathy.
"I never knew about the torturing stuff." He says slowly. "I knew he'd always be in the front line of battle, and I knew- through Scotland- that he was bad to Wales. But I hadn't known him personally for hundreds of years by the thirteen hundreds. I had no idea." He pauses. "But that's not an excuse. I should have been clearer that he was-" Norway flaps his jaw for a moment.
"A child soldier?" India says. It feels strange to say it out loud. Norway just shrugs,
"Which one of us wasn't? In one way or another." He doesn't say if he means Europeans or nations in general, and it probably doesn't matter. They all saw battle too young. "The rest of us chose to do better with ourselves."
India raises an eyebrow at him, something cold and sardonic weedling into his gut. "Did you?"
"Well I tried. That's not an excuse- I didn't get free of my neighbours for a long time- there wasn't much I could choose for quite a while." Norway shrugs, then laughs at India's gawping.
"I didn't get along with Denmark or Sweden for a long time." The thin, sad smile tells India exactly who'd come out on top there. "And there was Germany of course."
And Germany. Of course. India's mouth goes dry and he nods. He's rather ashamed to say he'd forgotten. Though not so much as the British Empire, which was practically yesterday, it was still recent. Absentmindedly, he presses a hand over his side.
"It's shit isn't it," he says instead of apologising.
Norway laughs. "Yeah. I really am sorry, I didn't think…"
"-neither did I." India can tell the truth well enough to know it in himself. The water continues to drip from Norway's sponge. "Thankyou."
Norway shrugs. "Don't worry about it. The quicker we figure this out the faster we can get things back to normal- so." He waves his sponge in the direction of the boy and then gets back to scrubbing. India keeps looking though.
England is stacking fluff and broken things carefully in one corner and chucking books in the other. It's almost entirely unrelated to cleaning, but he goes about it with single minded determination - so much that it seems he hasn't even noticed the argument. His scowl makes him pout like the child he is. And. India thinks about normal. He thinks about a dirty house full of bad memories and a boy who goes back to war when this is over. He thinks about a boy who was made a weapon.
Why don't you just take the child and run?
His stomach flips over and his throat clenches at the thought, and he turns away and begins scrubbing - ferociously- at the blood ground deep into the floor.
The sun is heavenly. It soothes the ice cold ache in Bengal's body, and she luxuriates in it. The bird's songs are unfamiliar, as are the scent of the garden flowers, but honestly it just gives her something to focus on that isn't Scotland's restless pacing at the other end of the garden. The stones he's throwing thump softly on the ground.
She smells the grass, and her jaw unlocks, taking the pressure off her head just a little.
Her fingers brush against the crumpled paper in her pocket- she tenses again.
"Pass me your hand." Bengal raises an eyebrow without opening her eyes. "Please," Pakistan amends.
Bengal lets her sister rub her knuckles and feels the final knots and tension leek away. She brushes her fingers against the spell again, and frowns.
"What's on your mind?" says Pakistan.
"Stuff. Magic mostly. Even Norway hasn't got a clue." Pakistan's hand clenches round hers, warm and strong, the new calluses already worn down by time and moisturizer. She relaxes into it.
"I don't think it's that mysterious, England-" Pakistan pauses. "The England I knew was madder than a box of frogs. We just have to find who- or what- he enlisted to help him." Bengal opens her eyes and squints against the light. Even silhouetted against the sun, she can see Pakistan's frown,
"You don't believe that," she says, squeezing her sister's hand.
"The word of God should be unbreakable." Pakistan's voice is quiet, and nervous. But she only said what both of them were thinking. Bengal scans her face, but her face has gone flat and expressionless. In the distance she can hear the quiet thunk of Scotland's rock throwing.
She looks up at the sky, the little birds flitting from tree to tree, and she's so deeply, deeply tired. So heavy- she can't keep her eyes open. Or speak. Her body sags against her will and cold surges up from her bones and she slips away from her body. Stabbing pain in her belly, smoke rising from her skin in the dark…
"-Bengal! Wake up!"
Pain in her cheek. Sunlight burns her retinas as she blinks, shivering despite heat pressing in on her like an anvil. Pakistan's frightened face hovers above her, and when the sunspots fade, she can see Scotlands too. Bengal brings her other hand up to rub her stinging cheek.
She doesn't try to pull her hand from her sister's grip- Pakistan's nails would tear her skin like rice paper.
"What was that for?" She says sharply. For a moment Pakistan's eyes just trace her face, watching.
"You went somewhere there, for a moment." Her voice is so solemn and for a moment Bengal can't speak, feels like all the air's been stolen from her lungs. Scotland blinks and silently places a rock besides her head, and she doesn't even have the strength to turn her head. Her sister frowns and shakes her again. "Bengal?!"
"I'm here." She says, blinking and shaking herself free. She glances down at her trapped wrist. "You can let go now."
Pakistan huffs and drops it like a hot rock, and Bengal can't help but rub at the dents in her skin. "You didn't need to pinch."
Her sister has the grace to look ashamed, and her voice is tense. "You went inside yourself again. Like yesterday- I thought…" She seems to weigh up her next words, opening and closing her mouth before finally - "I thought I was going to lose you."
Then she turns away and snaps at Scotland. "Did you find something?"
Scotland shrugs.
"Sorry?" says Bengal, totally lost.
"He's looking for something," Pakistan speaks before Scotland can even open his mouth, and the teenager rolls his eyes at Bengal before placing another stone at the crown of her head. She opens her mouth to object but Shaha interrupts her too. "Don't worry, he's just measuring things - he said there might be traces of some creature. A spirit, though in my opinion more likely some sort of djinn or devil, which might explain-"
"It wasn't a nation." Scotland says, hands moving with complete assurance as he does his magic measuring trick. Unlike Norway there's no light at all but she can feel static on her skin again and she shivers. It's horrible, having a stranger so close, but she trusts her sister to protect her from others. The only people who had been allowed to hurt her were the twins.
Surprisingly, Shaha just shrugs rather than address his rueness. "Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. But I've not hunted down black magic for at least five centuries. When would I have had the time?" She laughs quietly at herself.
Scotland looks from her sister, back to her. Bengal shrugs.
"Do you really not mind sharing a house with my brother?" His voice is flat and nakedly disbelieving, and his eyes bore straight through her.
A defensive rope of anger coils in her stomach. "He respects you if you do the same," she lies. Respect has nothing to do with it. But she's got pride, and the kid deserves standards.
"Bullshit." Scotland snorts and looks away. "But really, how much trouble has he given you?"
She scans her eyes from the tips of his stupid red hair to the end of his too-big feet. This explained far too much about England's ...everything. What? Were the British Isles hiding behind the door when the basic social decencies were handed out. Alongside the patience. And diplomacy.
"I think you should ask him that, if you're so interested."
Scotland laughs sourly and stares at her again. She fights the urge to shiver. "Don't worry I will."
She meets his gaze though. "What's the diagnosis then doctor? Will I live?"
"This whole house is sitting on a rift in reality." His voice is flat. "And it's feeding on you."
Bengal's voice shakes. "what?"
This chapter (+life, +uni) kicked my arse. It fought every bit of the way and wound up WAY longer than was feasable. Luckily! this means the second part is mostly written so can hopefully be up in a couple of weeks rather than the ...year... this one took.
Thankyou to everyone who's read and commented so far! It helped so much when I was struggling, and I really appreciate all of you.
Historically only two things are refrenced here- firstly the Brittish repriasals after the First War of Indian Independance. Among other things, people accused of being rebels were tied to canons which were then fired.
Secondly, Norway became independent in 1905 after being in a union with Denmark, then Sweden. I don't know much about this period of history, but for a long time written Danish was the only official language, with written versions of Norwegian only emerging later in responce to nationilist movements (according to wikipedia). Norway was later invaded by the Nazis. They imprisoned many thousands of people and installed a puppet government, but where heavily resisted by the local population.