Hope For The Heartless Chapter 140, a black cauldron fanfic

Both my editors advised me to tag a warning at the top of this chapter for graphic descriptions. I heeded their advice. XD So please, no eating or drinking while reading this chapter! Lol

Chapter 140

Planting seeds was, quite simply, tedious. But it was something that had to be done.

Stamping his heel firmly over yet another seed, he looked up and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

He still had practically a whole field to go. The horse, for all her usefulness, could do nothing for him now, and this was solely his job. One their lives depended on if they were to make it through the coming winter.

Still...he might as well take a break while he was close to his waterpouch.

Plodding tiredly over to the cool shade of the tree, he sat down, taking a slow, deep drink from his pouch. Panting, he stared out at all the work he still had to do and felt irritated at himself for having to stop. That field wasn't going to plant itself!

The mare suddenly flicked up her ears toward the trail that led into the field, a soft whicker escaping her mouth, and instantly he was on his feet, his heart thumping a mile a minute.

'Please, please...please let it be her.'

Yale's faded brownish-black horse cantered out of the trees, the rider looking about for a moment, before spotting him and coming over.

Arran swallowed the bitter taste in his throat as he always did. It was never her. And it would never be her. Honestly, he wasn't even certain why he kept hoping. Or, even more, why he bothered to miss her. They hadn't exactly gotten along...among other things.

As the horse and rider approached, Arran's heart suddenly clenched in his chest. Yale was white as a sheet.

"Yale, what is it?" Arran asked his friend, a hundred horrid things running through his mind, and all of it related to a certain horned monster.

"You're not gonna believe this," Yale croaked, his eyes wide and haunted.

Arran gulped, feeling a stab of pity for his friend as he dismounted.

"What happened?" Arran asked, letting the other boy lean on him as he helped him sit down beside him. He hadn't looked even half this horrible when he brought news of the Mad Pack.

"You...you know those...men that's been terrorizin' the villages 'round here?" Yale asked thinly.

Arran nodded apprehensively as Yale continued.

"They're dead. All of 'em's dead."

Arran stared at Yale in shock.

"What?" He asked, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "How'd you find out? Where are they?"

"All over the country," Yale managed out. "Something attacked 'em at a campsite they had a few days ago. I just found it today when I was rounding up some of our cattle."

"Can you show me?" Arran asked, feeling horrible for requesting this of his shaken friend, but he had to see it for himself.

"You don't want to," Yale said. Arran was about to protest but the other boy cut him off. "Trust me, you don't."

"Ok," Arran relented, "But can you tell me how they were killed? I know you don't want to talk about it, but I really need to know."

Yale glared at him through his unnatural pallor. "That's almost as bad as showing you. And why do you /need/ to know?"

"I just do," Arran said uncomfortably. "Maybe it was what killed the Mad Pack?"

"I don't know," the other replied. "Some of it looks similar, but a sword was obviously used this time for a lot of them. The rest were killed by claws and teeth."

Arran stiffened in fear as Yale buried his face in his hands with a dismayed groan.

"Great Fates, why do /I/ always have to find the weird stuff?"

"Yale, I need to see the bodies."

The ashen boy glowered thunderously at him. "You're gonna make me take you, aren't you?"

"No," Arran said, "But I want more detail."

". . .Mount up, you manipulative jerk," Yale shuddered, hauling himself weakly to his feet. "There's no way I'm describing it to you. But I hold myself guiltless for your well-being from this point onward."

Arran felt the stirrings of guilt, but said nothing, instead quietly mounting his own horse and following.

Neither of them spoke as they rode at a clipping pace. Arran followed the other boy for nearly three hours through the forested paths of Prydain, off the main trails where no one ever went, before Yale dismounted, signaling to leave the horses, which were jumpy.

Arran followed him, steeling himself for what he was afraid of seeing and yet knew he had to see. After seeing what remained of the Mad Pack...it couldn't be worse.

Yale pointed wordlessly, stopping. Arran looked.

A mangled human corpse lay in the bushes there, its head lying several yards away in the dust.

Arran felt himself grow ashen, and Yale shuddered in disgusted horror.

For the rest of the afternoon Yale walked Arran all around, showing him each horrifying mess after the other. Arran got sick twice but Yale could only manage gags, probably because he'd already lost everything. It was a massacre. The campsite where most of them had fallen (including many of their horses) was the worst, but scattered for miles about were the odd ones lying here and there, their mounts with them, and they were easily the most savage, animalistic killings. More than half at the campsite had been killed with a blade, something noticeably absent in the others, and something even more noticeable was that there was no tracks of a predator.

The fact that the killings were easily a few days old and scavengers had already had a go with them didn't help. And Yale's cattle tracks had erased what little evidence remained.

Stumbling back to the horses, Arran felt more terrified than he ever had in his life. He'd never seen something so horrific, and he knew those images would stay with him forever in nightmares. Oh, why had he made Yale show him?

"We have to tell somebody," Yale gasped, leaning on his horse for support as his shock and horror came out in his words. "Somebody did that. But /who/? Who could have possibly done /this/? And what kind of animal did the rest of it? There were no tracks of pursuit. The horse prints could be made out dimly. But what kind of animal can kill /horses/ without leaving tracks of some kind?"

Arran felt chilled to the bone. He believed he had an answer, but never in his wildest thoughts would he ever tell Yale. He hoped he was wrong, but this was the second killing spree he'd seen in the same fashion, and he was terrified of being right.

"I don't know," he said, unable to speak anything else.

"I'm heading to the village to spread the word tomorrow," Yale said with resolve, "People have to know of this."

Arran kept silent, unable to say anything that would not jeopardize his sister's life. Wildly assuming, of course, that she was even still alive.

In the days that followed her terrifying ordeal, Avalina invariably took Mitternacht with her whenever she left the courtyard. The horse knew something had happened to cause her fear and spent long hours sniffing carefully about, swiveling his head this way and that as he scanned the area for unwelcome company.

Creeper took care to always keep an eye on her, or have a gwythaint within calling distance. He would leave her to herself in the evenings but never went indoors until she returned to the courtyard.

Avalina took great care and many hours tending the plants, which now filled every inch of the Horned King's lands. While walking around the perimeter one day she ran across some lovely little flowery vines right over the border where she couldn't reach, but she didn't dare to cross the line. Whatever the little things were, though, she noticed they were spreading like complete wildfire, making an ever-growing patch of thickening stems, and decided to keep an eye on them.

After another week of practice, Gethin finally leapt into the air with a mighty pump of his wings and took off during a training session, actually flying for the very first time in his life, and the whoops, shrieks and laughs of delight from the two friends and their three animal companions drifted into the Horned King's window, a faint smile appearing on his face as he watched Avalina and Mitternacht keep up with Gethin on the ground, cheering encouragement, while the mother and Creeper coasted along in the air with the younger gwythaint, no doubt doing the same thing.

For the first time in months, the Horned King had ridden Mitternacht about in the courtyard yesterday, at Avalina's encouragement, and it had felt as euphoric as he remembered. The horse had been vaguely uneasy at first, despite the covering of dirt the Invisibles had lain on the cobblestones to ease the pressure on the animal's feet, but it hadn't taken long before Mitternacht had loosened up, allowing the lich to relax a bit himself. The session had, by all accounts, been quite enjoyable and the Horned King was looking forward to the one this afternoon as well.

He noticed that the female gwythaint (Addie, was it?) had become more relaxed in his presence, allowing him to actually touch her for the first time in her life. The Horned King had never touched the gwythaint before, always using hand signals to communicate what he wanted (or using the goblin) drawing no nearer to the creature than ten feet. Despite being used to his aura, it had still been too strong for the gwythaint to comfortably stay in at that range until rather recently. Besides, she had a certain personal space that had only been crossed by the goblin in the past without shredding some unfortunate fool's face off. She was still a bit uncertain around the Horned King, particularly with Gethin about, but Avalina's ease around the lich in turn calmed the gwythaint. Mitternacht being comfortable around the undead also helped this matter.

Watching the group of companions race around in the meadow together, simply enjoying the lovely weather and each other's company, both gladdened and dulled the Horned King's heart. But while he was up here, alone, he could contemplate something that had intrigued him for some time.

He had been able to observe Avalina for months now, how her mind worked, how she functioned, how her feelings showed themselves, and it puzzled him. He knew nothing of children, but certainly emotional changes in others were a bit less...drastic? Did all children's emotions work like this? Somehow, he found himself doubting it. It seemed logical to assume that children were not in control of their feelings as well as adults, but there was simply something about how Avalina's own emotions worked that he was certain most other mortals did not do.

When a negative emotion surfaced, such as irritation, frustration or pain, she would invariably cry to release it, rather than throwing something or taking deep breaths like the Invisibles did when feeling those same things. And he wondered why. Granted, the Invisibles were definitely not mortal, but aside from their abilities they acted very much like typical human beings.

Rather, some of them did. The others acted like stark raving maniacs.

He had only ever seen her angry without tears once. That had been that day in the library when he had nearly killed her after the incident with the Pig-Keeper. Now, after months of observing her, he thought he understood why. It was because, that day, she had been angry at /him/.

Every time he had seen it, her frustration and anger and so forth had always been turned inwards, towards herself, save that one time. Perhaps that was why she cried? When she punished herself with these feelings of self-loathing and the pain became too much for her? Why did she treat herself this way? Did she think herself not worthy of something?

He growled. He would have to speak with her of this.

He knew mortals cried when feeling extremes of any emotion, whether it be positive or negative, but he had slowly pieced things together over the months, one bit at a time, and he had no answer for her fragile and drastic emotional changes. She could be joyful one moment and then instantly be sad, or in reverse order, with no intermediate level, but why? It frustrated him when he could not procure an answer.

Watching them all playing outside, he calmed himself, storing that question in his memory to ask her later. He would not trouble her with it now.

Since her kidnapping and rescue, he had noticed a change. She was jumpier outdoors, and never went out alone. This troubled the Horned King a big more strongly than he would have expected. He couldn't help but remember his promise he had given her, that nothing here would harm her...and something had. Many times, if he counted himself and Arawn. The wound his old henchman had made on her neck would heal, but the mental trauma might never fade. If he'd been just one moment later...

The Horned King snipped the thought short before it could finish, silently warring with an old battle he thought he had put well behind him long ago.

He did not wish to do so. But he knew he would be the sole one responsible if he refused this necessity and anything were to happen to her. He should have begun months ago. The entire idea of it did not settle well with him, one way or the other.

But he had no choice. He would have to-

His musings were interrupted when the door burst open, crashing against the wall as the Invisibles swept into the room, one banging a cymbal and the other blowing a very annoying bugle that buzzed and squeaked when used.

The Horned King stiffened, not even bothering to turn from the window as they began to run haphazardly around the room, gusts of wind swishing his robes and stole every time they passed him.

"Der-toot-toot-toot-teeeer!" went the bugle.

"CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!" answered the cymbal.

"Helloooooooo Mr. Prickles!" The Invisibles sang, racing past him again, before screaming, "WE GOT SOMETHIN' TO TELL YA! IT'S REAL IMPORTANT! /REALLY!/" They emphasized, as though he hadn't heard them, increasing their pitch, "/IT'S SUPER-IMPORTANT AND YOU NEED TO PAY ATTENTION!/ /LIKE, RIGHT NOW/!"

TOOT-TEEER-DER-TOOT-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!

The Horned King gritted his fangs, and as deliberately and chillingly as possible, turned from the window to survey the room. All he could see were the instruments racing around the room by themselves in a stiff breeze, the disembodied voices echoing madly off the walls with every bang of the...items. He would never stoop to calling those abominations, 'instruments.' Not since that wretched little ditty had popped up and he had ended up playing it on piano by accident...what sort of twisted mind would pen that?

'I will murder the one who wrote of Yankee Doodle Dandy.'

Not bothering to give them the dignity of following their movements with his eyes, he stood there, fisting his hands behind him and glared death at the opposite wall below the platform, waiting for them to cease.

An arched brow ridge was the only frosty order for them to speak, which they did, after perching on his throne-like chair and cackling.

The Horned King let a slow breath out his nose at their blatant disrespect, but as he could do nothing to amend their behavior he restrained himself as the noise-making things in midair above his seat disappearing into nothing. (much to the lich's relief)

"Well?" he demanded stonily, eyeing the chair.

The room was silent as a tomb.

"...We forgot."

The Horned King felt his left eye twitch.

"What?" He hissed.

"We forgot what we were going to tell you."

"A shame, cause it was really important."

"Really important."

"REALLY IMPORTANT, YOU KNOW WHAT WE'RE SAYIN'?"

The lich clenched his hands tightly behind his back, staring fixedly at the wall, and silently counted to six, refusing to let them see him lose his temper as he was certain that was what they wanted.

"Until you remember, you are dismissed," he growled, keeping himself in check with all his restraint.

"Ok!" They cried cheerfully, whisking out the door. "You're the best, Spiky!"

After the door slammed shut, his narrowed eyes glared unseeingly after them, before turning slowly back to the window, wishing that once, just once, he could wring their miserable necks.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself, unclenching his fists and resting his hands on the sill, he gave a huff.

'Worthless, the lot of them.'

The door crashed open again, making him snarl in surprise and whip around, eyes flaming red.

"WE REMEMBER NOW!" they bellowed in perfect unison. "AREN'T YOU PROUD OF US?"

"And what," the Horned King ground out, barely managing to keep his voice at a moderate decibel, "Is so desperately important, pray tell?"

The Invisibles cackled madly, throwing streamers in the air.

"AVALINA'S BIRTHDAY IS NEXT WEEK! AND WE GAVE YOU A WEEK'S HEAD-NOTICE SO YOU WOULDN'T BE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE THAT GIFT-HUNT AT THE LAST SECOND, JUST BECAUSE WE'RE NICE!"

The Horned King had calmed at the sound of her name, but the rest of the statement had taken a moment for him to process.

Birthday? The word held no meaning to him.

After several moments of uncomprehending silence, the Invisibles noticed.

"Elaborate," he dredged out.

"You...you don't know what a birthday is?!" They sputtered in affronted shock. "And after we did that really nice one for you too! With the cream pie and everything!"

Then understand dawned.

"I forbid you to repeat that with Avalina," he growled, before they continued.

"Sheesh, Hat-Rack, like we'd ever do /anything/ like that to her," they scoffed.

"I detect favoritism," the Horned King stated in his monotone voice.

"What, us?"

"Favoritism?"

"Ha! You must be crazy, old man."

"Perish the thought at once!"

"We would never /dream/ of showing favoritism toward anyone, Your Most Imperial Pincushionness." They cackled. "Not at all."

The Horned King arched a brow ridge, clearly unconvinced, but said nothing as they continued.

"But to answer your question, a birthday is self-explanatory. It's a celebration of the day one is born."

The lich mulled this over for a moment.

"And what if one was born at night?"

"...You always this complicated?"

The Horned King did not bother to reply, and they went on.

"Normally, the birthday girl or boy in question receives a gift from their family members in celebration. Although peasants don't, normally, being too poor and all."

"The mortals celebrate approaching Death?" He asked, surprised.

"No," the Invisibles answered, "It's more like a celebration of another year that they were blessed to live."

"Hm. Seeing as I am not her relative, I see no reason for you informing me of this particular...tradition."

"Oh, friends give gifts too, McGee. And you're her friend, so you qualify. And nope, don't you try to deny it, cause this whole castle knows better. And if you don't, we'll scream it from the rooftops for you, to make sure she knows."

The smugness in their voices was nearly sickening, but the lich did not bother replying.

After a few moments one of the Invisibles (or was it two?) commented, "You know, I know there was another tradition about birthdays, but what was it? Think, think, think. It was something about the food, I just know it."

"I can't remember either. But it was really important."

"REALLY IMPORTANT, YOU KNOW WHAT WE'RE SAYIN'?"

The Horned King resisted the urge to massage his temple and ground out, "When you remember, return."

"Aye-Aye, Admiral Pincushion!" They bellowed happily, before whisking out and slamming the door behind them.

The lich waited.

And waited.

And waited. Any moment now, they were gonna crash through...any moment...

Nothing happened.

The Horned King faintly arched a brow ridge at the door, which stayed resolutely shut. There was no sound except the almost inaudible thump of the lich's own heart.

After eleven and a half minutes of silence, he finally turned back to the window, noticing the group outside resting under the trees now, and upon seeing Avalina, his eyes softened faintly, losing their totally dead expression for a moment.

The wall to his right exploded in a festoon of stones, confetti and mortar, spraying him with the two latter substances.

Snarling in rage, his blazing eyes took in the gaping hole in the wall, ducking a stone as it went past his horns.

"What is the meaning of this?!" He roared at the Invisibles, staring in fury at the damage.

"WE REMEMBER NOW!" they shouted, "SO WE CAME TO YOU IMMEDIATELY, SIR!"

"This had better be important," the Horned King fumed, his voice like stone, "And afterwards you are repairing this immediately."

"OH OK!" they said happily. "NO PROBLEM!"

"Now, by all means, out with it," the lich growled, his eyes flaming in the dimness.

". . .Um. . .we forgot."

Sorry for taking so long to update, y'all. :( I hit a roadblock in the timeline, and then there were these tons of other ideas that were screaming to be written down before I forgot 'em, so I had to dutifully type them up so they'd leave me in peace, which took most of my time, and then by the I got back to this story I'd been mentally in another world for a while and had to get myself back on track here in Prydain. Lol

Thank you all so much for the kind and encouraging comments you left on the last chapter! =D They make me so happy-happy, dude! ^_^ Lol Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and thanks again for reading and reviewing! =D Lol