Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. Or Netflix. Or Facebook. Or Furbies. Or Brightburn. Or Pet Semetary. Or the song: 'The Cruel Mother.' Or Fine Flowers in the Valley. Or Dante's inferno: "For it is no easy undertaking, I say, to describe the bottom of the Universe; nor is it for tongues that only babble child's play." Or the Bible: Leviticus 20:27: "A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit, or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death." Or Genesis 3:19: "By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground—because out of it were you taken. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return."
Warning: Profanity. Some stereotypes. Some OCs for sake of plot. Some inevitable inaccuracies (historically, culturally, linguistically, and grammatically). Abenaki's First Mother. I've typed out an Abenaki phrase as the website listed it: "Wlalmekw8gan." That is not a typo. Note: 8 = ô (Nasal "O(n)" sound). Azeban. Continued familial discord. Somewhat disturbing graphic imagery. Bad poetry.
AN: Slew of RL adulting tasks. Plus, there's nothing quite like being told by your sibling that BTW you're throwing them a baby shower on Easter weekend, they've invited a bunch of people, and here's a list of demands O_O Can't make this stuff up.
Thank you for your reviews and patience! There's been a lot of awesome comments and speculation. Special thanks to TheRobinsNest who made me a cute little Alfred doodle and Muddles for going back through Wendigo and giving it love—that really helped get me re-energized. Ugh, I had to download and review 48 chaps for maintenance and I gave MS Word a heart attack, which was interesting to witness, and had to split the file. S'matter, Bro? Can't take over 900 pages? Supposedly, they can hold up to 2000. Tch.
OMG. Rolltidemom86, I saw the Pet Semetary trailer O.O (Will have to see it. I feel like this is going to be a fun year for movies. Have you seen the trailer for Brightburn?)
Once again, thank you all for your reviews and continued interest! And now:
Chapter 49: Coffin-Surprise
Alfred moved forward towards the coffin in an almost dreamlike state.
It was like leaving his office at three in the morning, in that half-awake, comfortably impervious, liminal headspace and driving home.
He'd always make it but couldn't remember the trip at all. There was just the confidence that he'd always succeed when he had to. Like when he gave his "Revolutionary Rant" and he never failed to believe that his listeners would be moved. Because they had to be. For him.
He snapped his fingers and the roots tore the rusty old chains apart in a spray of metal links.
"You're...controlling the trees," Tex mumbled as he followed him over.
He raised an eyebrow. "Very good. NASA's best. Keep up, Tex."
He got a cuff to the ear and laughed.
It was a strange feeling alight in his breast.
It was that beat before two microscope lenses were aligned. That moment in a lecture, at a lab table, before a chalkboard, perched on the edge of his chair, his thoughts on the brink of enlightenment, set to tumble.
For a while now, since the hex's removal, bits and pieces had been knitting themselves together but it was always haphazardly, with holes and gaps.
Now though, now he could sense a great force slowly filling them in. Making him whole. Because it was what he'd asked for. What he wanted. And he always got what he wanted.
He was uncompromising like that and he'd pay what he had to. So the universe was never stingy with him when he made demands.
He remembered leaning against the doorframe of the library reading Dante to an uncomfortable Samuel with a child's relish because "despair" was just a word then. And then sitting in the music room of Kirkland Hall in utter defeat reflecting over the passage in his mind's eye once more.
"For it is no easy undertaking, I say,
to describe the bottom of the Universe;
nor is it for tongues that only babble child's play."
And he remembered waiting in a holding cell in the 1690s and later in 1814 reciting Leviticus 20:27.
"A man also or woman that hath a familiar spirit,
or that is a wizard, shall surely be put to death."
Those were important things. He knew that. Remembered that. He just didn't remember why yet.
Texas gave an involuntary shudder that he'd learned to interpret as meaning that paranormal activity was afoot.
"Spectres?"
Texas swallowed hard. "Uh, yeah."
"Angry?"
"Whellp, not happy. They sure ain't whistlin' Dixie."
He didn't see anything. Not yet. Spirits had to be particularly powerful for him to take notice. He usually just felt them.
And he did sense them here.
He blew out a breath and watched it fog before him.
He should've been terrified, the way he usually was.
He just felt...oddly resigned. Like he'd put this off for too long a time and it was better to face it head on and be done with it finally.
The roots turned the coffin right side up and then pried the lid back. Though the engravings on the wood were old and faded and worn; he peeked in but didn't dare touch the surface.
"Texas," he called. "You'll have to do the heavy lifting. It's spelled against me."
"Goodie."
Tex peered in with his phone's light and with a frenzied "SHIT! SHIT! SHIIIT!" he almost fell down in his haste to scramble away.
"GAH! Jesus, Al! A little warning! Good night! That is freaky!"
The clouds drifted and moonlight momentarily lit up their small clearing.
Alfred glanced down at the twisted skeletal inhabitant. Time had detached its jaw and disintegrated most of his clothing, though a few tatters of cloth remained here and there. But that probably wasn't what had spooked his brother.
It was probably the Gramarye.
But time was of the essence!
He needed Samuel to help him before-
He shook his head.
He needed Texas to help him set up for the gate ritual with all due haste and then...
The book…
He blinked and rubbed at his forehead.
Dude! His head was total mush! It was like having his feet in two canoes!
He glanced back into the coffin.
It was an odd, familiar book that, while old and yellowed, showed little sign of true damage. And it was lying open. But maybe it was the location of this opened spellbook that caused Texas alarm.
The bottom two ribs of each side of the dead man's cage poked through the pages and bound the Gramarye to the corpse.
The grisly impossibility should've unnerved him as well.
Texas's chest heaved and, as he regained his composure, he spat, "A witch in there and you don't even give me a warning!? What the hell, Bro?"
Alfred blinked and gazed up at him as the sky darkened once more. "Colonel Harris wasn't a witch."
And it was fitting for him to rest in the box he'd commissioned for America.
Texas gave his little brother a flat look. "You're all kinds of creepy right now. You know that, right?"
Alfred's eyebrows drew together. "I don't mean to be. This day's discoveries have simply illuminated a-"
"You ain't even talkin' like you."
"...Dude."
"Eeeyeah. I appreciate that last ditch effort but you're a day late and a dollar short."
Alfred rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Hello, I can't get to my phone right now because my soul is blendering between 'Me's' soooo please leave a message and some me will get back to you."
Tex weighed that out. "Okay. Good. Honesty. Yes. So...you actually uh, feel er...differences?"
"I mean, there's the 'I-thought-I-was-me' ME right here talking to you. Then Roanoke ME, who's kinda just a doorstop cuz he doesn't do much, but it means something to have him there. I just haven't figured out what. And then there's Awesome McSuper Revolutionary Me, who I thought I knew but sometimes I wonder cuz he got curb-stomped by 1812. But now there's this other ME sneakin' up on the scene."
"This sounds like something we watched on Netflix."
"No, you don't get it. He's the ME that connects them all. Like all those other me's were just offshoots of a main root. There was always a little bit of him in all of them. But now he's like a tide coming in, or all the rest was icing and he's the cake, or they were the outlines of the coloring book and he's the color, or...something. It's big. I just don't know why."
Right.
Okay. Maybe he wasn't a big promoter of psychiatry and all that but if an afternoon on a shrink's couch could help his little brother sort out his...four selves...maybe he would need to push him towards Matt and Arthur to get him situated.
This wasn't the time to call out his crazy though.
"Whadda we do now, Boss?"
"Well, we'll need that eventually," he remarked and pointed to the book.
Tex ran a hand over his face and scratched at stubble that was appearing. "Of course we will."
The scrolls turned out to be mostly poetry and he had half a mind to burn them to preserve Alfred's dignity. A lot of them were for Arthur, Mathieu, and Rhys. Though one was surprisingly addressed to him and with his old spelling 'Tejas.'
He skimmed about half of it before mentally gagging and being glad it hadn't made the journey to him back then.
It would've really colored his perspective. He'd only thought Al was a total dandy back then. This scrap of writing and the gushy note at the top of it would've confirmed it...and language had kinda changed so some of early Al's words about his feelings had different connotations now and it'd be bad for them to find their way to Facebook.
And then there was the poem itself which was flowery in every sense.
As the stalk of corn springs from the source of a kernel,
May the garden of our friendship bloom eternal.
Tch.
He loved his brother. He did. And he appreciated the sentiment but he could never let Mexico find this. It was the ultimate black mail. He might need to eat it like the spies of old so that no one could use it against them.
"Here they are," Alfred cried happily. He emptied a small pouch and five wooden soldiers tumbled into his hand.
He wasted no time in flitting about and placing them strategically around the small graveyard. He half expected Alfred to exclaim something about feng shui or good luck.
Instead, his questioning look was answered with, "So we won't be interrupted!"
It was only as he took a good hard look at the one nearest him, that he got a prickling sense of unease. The toy soldier had clumps of wax on him holding a tuft of old tartan and…
Brown eyes widened.
Strands of dark red hair?
"Aaaal?"
"It's just a precaution. You know? In case they try and spoil our work." That sounded smart and sensible and was a practical approach to using magic, but there was a glazed look on him as he said it.
Damn it. He hated playing Devil's Advocate for Euros. "I dunno, Al. Your dad and his bros-" he almost added 'who love you' but that might've come off too strong. "-Might have some...advice we might need though." Cuz things were swiftly going into deep water—over his head and beyond his comfort level.
Which he could've dealt with no problem if Al was firmly in the driver's seat. But he seemed kinda upside down and they were rolling through intersections like the time their model T's brake broke and they were headin' downhill.
Alfred looked to the side and then back to him. "Nonono, he's right. We can't trust them. They'll try to stop us. They would've last time if they'd known. We can't depend on them. Thinking we can is the real danger, the true peril we must avoid. He-"
"Allie?" His heart was beating hard in his chest. "Who's he? Cuz you and me-" He pointed his finger to them both. "-Are right here." And he hadn't heard any of the ghosts utter anything. They were just hovering silently beside their graves.
They almost seemed...afraid...to interact with them. Which was a hell of a thing. What could a ghost, that knew it was dead even, be afraid of?
Alfred fiddled with another item he'd found in a sack that almost seemed like a…wind chime...made out of bird parts. He hung it on a low lying branch. "I'm just saying he has a point. It's kinda unpatriotic to involve them at all. I mean, we didn't need them before."
Texas nodded. And he didn't want to look but he did. He glanced over his shoulder at the skeleton he'd dumped facedown because it gave him goosebumps like crazy.
Tex sucked in a breath and decided to be upfront. "Uh, I'm gonna be straight with you, little brother. I don't think Colonel Harris gives good advice. I don't think he can. Fundamentally speakin' cuz bein' evil and crazy from the getgo kinda hampers ya in that department. I wouldn't trust his two cents back in the day let alone now with inflation. So, I'm fixin' to veto that, 'kay?"
For a moment, Alfred looked like he was going to argue with him and then he slowly cobbled together a sentence: "Well, yeah...I always take your view into account." His eyes seemed to focus and then he was back. "I trust you."
Tex nodded. "Thanks."
Alfred raised an eyebrow like that was weirder than anything he'd just said.
Yeah...yeah...stuff was goin' down over here. And his phone was officially dead. In a graveyard. With Al's abusive ex-superior a couple feet away.
Fun times.
Though it was cold, Tex took off his jacket to throw it over the skeleton.
Cuz there was something off about it and the minute they were done sifting through the coffin-surprise-contents of Al's intended grave, he'd be tossing its bony ass back in.
He and Al worked to make a fire pit and get some light to better see by. And cuz if that skeleton did reanimate Night of the Dead style or was somehow badass action-y skilled like Jason and the Argonauts' warriors, he wanted to notice it A.S.A.P. He wished he had his rifle along but thankfully, his Ruger LCP didn't seemed damaged from their river adventure.
He threw another branch onto the fire. "And the trees...don't mind us burning this stuff?"
Alfred frowned. "They have to shed branches now and then. Sometimes it's the weight. Sometimes there's disease or parasites. I asked them. They offered these and a lot were already on the ground, so they were fair game."
Tex poked at the fire and sighed as he took in their surroundings.
Funny. How this was one of those moments where seeing more clearly, actually made reality look a thousands times worse. His fingers started instinctively counting on his rosary.
Nine graves altogether...with Al's. And he really hoped they wouldn't have to go Easter Egg hunting in all of them.
Al motioned him back over to the coffin almost dancing with excitement. "We're almost done!"
It really was a weird combination of stuff to go through and he had to be careful as he pulled items out. Some were so old he was afraid he'd break them. Aside from leisure poetry, the rest made him think of homework—scrolls, quills, papers, ribbons, cords, and books. An old crappy copy of Dante's Inferno? It was like they'd emptied out the drawers of Al's desk in the 1800s and dumped them here.
But then there were some more private items like lockets and combs and buckles and other vanity objects.
And then there were great shards of glass from four tarnished standing mirrors that had been packed at the bottom of the box.
"Those! Those were important!" Al tugged at Tex's sleeve. "I remember that I used those. North, South, East, and West? Maybe? Like Yule?" His features scrunched up. "No...not like...but I need those!"
"Kay."
He pulled the mirror pieces out, handed them to Al, who gently set them down.
Once they'd finished, they looked at each other and then downwards.
Four fixer-uppers to be sure. It was gonna take some puzzle-piece figuring to get them all in the right places.
"I've got duct tape," they both declared simultaneously and laughed as they caught each other's eye.
That felt a little more like Al.
Arthur glared at the cave's ceiling and ignored his stomach's growling as the scent of chicken noodle soup filled the air.
Their captors were a coven of white witches determined to dispel the hyperbole that all hags were flesh-eating baby snatchers and that they could be excellent hosts.
Unfortunately, while progressive in this instance, they were still sadly behind in other conventions.
The idea that holding people against their will could be construed as villainous, a.k.a. kidnapping with good intentions, escaped them. They wouldn't entertain the thought at all and so several members of Arthur's group had already been gagged.
He thought they'd get along swimmingly with Osha since they clearly read from the same handbook.
Happy May Day, Arthur ol' boy, he thought miserably.
He'd known from his watch beeping a while back that midnight had come and gone.
This was NOT how he'd envisioned this holiday going.
Arthur carefully hunched his body, as though to find some respite from the chill...and more importantly conceal his true intent. He did so a bit too convincingly for a hag draped a tattered blanket over him.
She wandered back over to the bubbling cauldron and complained that caves really were too traditional and why couldn't they just rent out a room in the village for gatherings? It was the 21st Century, why not embrace thermostats?
Too simple.
Honestly, this weather was tame compared to what he was used to, but it made reaching for the emergency knife he kept in his boot a breeze.
He sawed the knife through the cords, waiting to see if there was any kind of enchantment on them to raise an alert.
Not one.
Having freed himself, he now need only bide his time.
The old biddies were squabbling over a video camera they'd found in Hawaii's effects.
Thank God they were distractable.
He froze as he heard Alfred sing lyrics of "The Cruel Mother."
It was such a pricking sense of betrayal, his eyes stung. Alfred knew how much that song and all of its variations hurt him…
And this one...was even worse than Fine Flowers in the Valley...
On top of the...the… impromptu surgery he'd performed…
The lack of consideration and compassion…
His heart twisted in his breast.
What was even more unexpected was the loud snort of laughter that accompanied the mournful tune.
He gave Alistair a stern glare.
"You...yeh can't see it from where you are...but-" The Scotsman choked on a snicker. "Tex is acting it out...with...with-with...Furbies! And he used his bolo tie-"
"..."
"I'm cracked, alright?" He and the hag nearest him shared a chortle. "I'm so passed stressed out and furious! And it's two in the fuckin' morning...so everything is just goddamn funnier at two in the mo-"
The lot of them watched the video several more times to try and decipher a hidden meaning in it.
And Arthur felt his temper rise with each reprise.
Alfred, what the hell is to be done with you?!
Alistair shrugged, "I dunno, ladies, if yeh'd had Furbies...might be a service to the community to off 'em-"
It wasn't as grand of a distraction as Arthur would like to make an escape, but it'd have to do.
He would locate Alfred, educate him on a variety of fronts, dissuade him from opening the gate, and get him to a safe place. They'd make several calls to the government to rally a significant force to return and help them free their comrades.
He rose to a crouching position.
Mathieu noticed him then and he felt a terrible stab of guilt that he'd have to leave the lad behind.
Their captors didn't seem to mean them harm though and he could tell from the way Rhys's shoulders would twitch now and again, that his brother was working his way free of his bonds as well by means of blade or rock.
Still...
For too long Mathieu had seemed to consider himself second-fiddle to his brother.
It was just...Alfred had a greater propensity for landing into trouble and so he got more attention.
He could try to break them both out but...considering the means of travel he intended to take, the boy would slow him down immensely.
Even as it was, the amount of magic and energy involved was nothing short of impractical. And he seldom performed it outside of his own lands.
If he could've called a unicorn to him, he would've. But Miss GlimmerGlam was too young and untrained for the task and he'd likely get her lost without meaning to.
It was only because he KNEW the coordinates of the gate exactly; the hags had dumped out the contents of Alfred's Captain America rucksack and Osha's map had been facing him for the better part of half an hour. He KNEW he could travel there.
Violet eyes lowered to noticed Arthur's free hands and then raised to meet his eyes.
Mathieu gave him a silent, grim nod.
Relief washed over him and he nodded back.
He would return for the lad.
He slipped out from under the blanket and bunched it up to look as though someone might still lie under it.
He moved behind a rock formation and then looked over to the cave entrance—trying to gauge when to make his dash to it. He was about to take his chances when, to his astonishment, he watched a raccoon slip in.
Which shouldn't have been an altogether uncommon thing because they'd been a mixture of furry amusement and nuisance, since he'd first established his colonies here.
His men had often remarked they made night patrols more interesting with their thieving antics.
But something about this animal's eyes were off. It noticed him immediately and almost seemed to smirk.
He tried to dismiss it as the delirium of exhaustion and the luminescence common to nocturnal beasts but there was a wicked sort of intelligence there.
It crept over to the cauldron in the center of the cave and tipped it.
Chicken and vegetable soup sloshed over the the cave floor to a cacophony of screeches.
"Move them, we don't want them hurt. Aggie? Get the mops! Get the-fine, I'll do it!"
Arthur raced his way out into the woods, still half amazed that his legs and ankles didn't pain him and what speed was now his!
He half-wondered if Alfred would regret the healing when Arthur was able to easily catch him up after mischief?
He could envision the shock of his son and the tickle fight that would ensue and the-
The daydream of a happier future made the present moment much more somber.
Some holiday this all turned out to be.
His son was...gone...far from his reach and scheming...and...dangerous…and…
He ran a hand through his hair.
The rest of their family was in various degrees of conflict.
Who knew where Spain and Puerto Rico had wound up?
And he hadn't thought to try and swipe a cell phone on his way out.
Damnation.
When he felt he'd put enough distance between himself and them, he climbed a tree to better see the stars.
Navigating by constellations used to always bring him a spark of joy and adventure. Would remind him of sailing on the seven seas or dashing over grassy hills laughing at the water horse that couldn't catch him—
That way.
He needed to go that way.
He nearly fell off his branch when he realized the raccoon from earlier on the branch of a tree across from his.
Something in its glowing eyes let him know it was the same one.
And because it appeared to have knicked a bauble off of America's rucksack and was turning over the Marvel keychain in its hands.
It edged back a bit to lean nearer against the trunk and in the shadows morphed into something more manlike but all Arthur was able to glimpse was still the face of the raccoon, though it seemed more like a fur pelt worn over the head now.
This wasn't a fae, though it felt similar in some regards. Not of his land. His magic knew that at once and warned him against it. He'd have no command over it. And no inherent knowledge as to what it'd want or how to deal with it.
Wisdom told him to leave. Rhys would've told him to leave.
Arthur gathered his nerves. "Why did you help me?"
The creature seemed to shrug and, with a better command of English than Arthur had expected, answered with a chuckle, "You do not ask me WHO I am. That is well for I own many names. I help...because you will help Dyami or whatever name he goes by now…"
It wasn't the moment for it, and likely a symptom of being overtired, but he felt pleased that the English language had become so prevalent that no interpreters were needed. "My Alfred."
"I don't forget past promises. And though there is much he has done to wrong...how is it your people phrase it? 'Me and mine'? In the years between...it does not undo the kindnesses and debts I owed him from before."
"I don't understand," Arthur replied. This could only be one of the creatures that had accompanied Lome sometime in his misadventures during 1814! He remembered something about that. God, anything he could learn from it was vital!
"He was a favorite of First Mother," the spirit explained as he tossed the keychain back and forth.
Damnation, Arthur. A little research on indigenous creation myths would've really helped here.
"First Mother?"
"Who...sacrificed herself to bring corn?"
"..."
The spirit seemed amused by his ignorance. "Anyways...He danced and the rows sprang to ripeness."
Arthur blinked. "Wot?"
"Harvest, pale one, harvest."
"Right." So his Alfred had done some sort of service to merit a favor.
"He danced for them who did not welcome him and did not invite him to stay for the feast."
"..."
"I pointed him to those desolate places. And now I point you to him."
"Ah, absolution." That he could understand. It was like providing ammunition for an ally rather than standing with him during the siege.
"Balance in all things, vistor. Balance in all." The spirit? Creature? Raccoon bloke? Jumped down to a lower branch. "Wlalmekw8gan."
"I will save him," Arthur vowed.
There was a laugh at that. "I am merciful and will not hold you to that. Guide him. That is all I ask and all he needs. More would be...asking for trouble."
Green eyes narrowed. It echoed too strongly of Alfred's various sentiments regarding "Enough." His fists clenched. He would save his child.
Another laugh followed. "You remind me of him. He would give me that look too. Oh...and tell him Coyote's still angry, but I'm not. Alright. Go then, on your way, brave warrior." He chuckled. "But be warned, he is a favorite, you see? Of the Great Spirit and the heavens...and all with ruthless ambition."
"..."
"To be blessed with these attentions is to be cursed."
"...Enlighten me," he growled.
"His life will never be ordinary...and so no one in his life...will ever be safe."
The thing dropped down to the forest floor below, a beast once more, and then disappeared into the gloom.
Arthur stared after it.
He fought against the unsettlement that stirred in him. He sniffed. They were born as nations. Of course their lives were...set apart...different. There would be highs and lows. Always.
Near-immortality and semi-invulnerability promised that.
That thing didn't understand.
Arthur's heart couldn't hold regrets over that. He'd wanted the child too much for too long to ever be cowed. Even if it was ultimately a direly selfish wish; to have someone to love.
Even if his desires had brought his poor offspring into a world that was dangerous and cruel and as full of awe and splendor as it was of awful woe…
To regret that...would mean regretting him…
And even if the boy wasn't all sunshine and petals and his thorns could make his father's soul bleed…
Even if he was impetuous and combative and short-sighted and foolish…
Even if their rulers and responsibilities would ever be pulling them apart or putting them at odds with each other...
He thought of bonny blue eyes and wheat gold hair and a dimpled grin that brought him joy.
He pulled out his locket of the child.
No.
No, it couldn't be done.
He kissed the portrait miniature and returned it to the safety of his breast pocket.
He released a long breath and determinedly pulled his wand from the ether.
He gave a few practice twirls and then began spellcasting for a new shape. Changing form was necessary though exhausting and since the wings were artificial, there was always a sense of flimsiness to them—an awareness that should they fail, he'd be left plummeting to the ground below.
Maybe that was part of the price for constructing something against nature? He was meant to sail the seas not fly like a gull over them.
Morgana had always laughed at such limits.
He sighed, flexed the wings, and then left the branch.
The air was cold and the tree tops were dark and uninviting. And maybe it was because Morgana's magic had always been a bit more earthy and feral than his...it lingered in this form that she'd helped him create and he got the distinct feeling that the forest was sentient. And...observant.
They...knew...he was over them.
And he could almost persuade himself to believe the word "imposter" was uttered between them in various dialects.
Had they known Roanoke from the start? Had Alfred often been spirited between his island and Osha's settlements in his earliest years?
What he could be certain of was that while Alfred did have sway over them (as he'd shown with his entrapment of Mathieu), it was more that they were willing and Alfred's magic accommodating than that they were simple servile vessels.
It would be folly to think of them as golems. For all their anchoring roots, they were freer spirits by far. How much aid had woods like these given to America during their wars?
A campfire near the coordinates and Alfred's jubilant "Well done, Bro! They look awesome!" let him know he'd caught up.
He set down on a branch overlooking what appeared to be a small graveyard.
His jaw dropped. A bonfire? Really? Did Alfred live to be as unceremonious and disrespectful as possible?
Good God! He'd even dug one grave up!?
He was about to announce his presence and give the dressing down of a millennia when a poke to the ankle revealed Reilley sitting on a branch near his.
"Happy Beltane's Day and sit your arse down already, I seen enough tonight to not deserve your near flashin' me."
Arthur's face heated up. "The tunic covers!"
"Aye well, it covered better when you were a tween. And your legs ain't that fine, keep 'em to yerself."
Arthur rolled his eyes but did sit down for a moment to collect himself. The flight had winded him.
"Hope you don't get any splinters."
The only proper response was a two finger salute.
"I've been texting you-"
Arthur nodded. "We were captured by a coven of hags and our phones confiscated."
"So it wasn't a game o' 'Ignore the Irishman'?"
Arthur's eyebrows twitched. "Do you truly believe we're petty enough for that?"
"..."
"Good God, man."
"Well, are they on their way?" Reilley looked around for any sign or sound of approaching bodies.
"Rhys was breaking free when I left."
"You just up and left? What about Mattie-b-"
"White Witches. They contend that they were...protecting us...from…" He looked down into the clearing.
"Oh." Reilley was quiet for a moment before. "Alistair got captured by a White Witch?" Reilley snorted into his hand to smother the sound. "Oh that's something."
"How good to know that while we suffered, you sat in a tree and did nothing of note-"
"Oi. I took lots of notes and texted them to you. Found out oodles. But you got yourself into a bind and now I have to make up for it. Soooo, this is hallowed ground because there's a wee graveyard here, ghosts too, and the hags can't step on it. So I wager that also keeps them and theirs from openin' the gate back up on their own-"
"Anything more? Get me up to speed. On the double, man."
"Gettin' to it! It was in the texts! Oh, kay. Damn it all. I'd built it up all good too. Which was kinda necessary because I realize that I am stalking but it's out of familial duty and not the creepy Hamlet uncle kind-"
"Get on with it."
"Righto. The um, the short, short, short version. Well, you know how Alfie-boy's kinda vain and self-centered?"
Arthur's teeth gnashed together audibly.
"I ain't bein' mean! I-I-he's a daffodil. Narcissus staring in the water, you follow me? Well, what do plants do to survive? They focus on themself and adapt."
Arthur raised a fist. "So help me if you don't come to a point in the next three seconds, I will deck you, you blockheaded, breath-wasting-"
"He's a shapeshifter!" Reilley blurted.
"Wot?"
"His first instinct in any kerfuffle is to throw himself at it. Why? Because he's his best tool. Because he can change himself to complete a task. He funnels his magic through himself. That's why he fortified himself against the wendigo. That's why he transformed himself to be older when he had troubles with you. It wasn't time magic. It was him. He changed himself to make himself a stronger opponent. Probably wanted to be on equal footing with yeh if it came to fisticuffs."
He eyed Arthur's raised hand and the Briton let it drop.
"Clay and dust…" Genesis 3:19 reverberated through his mind: "By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground—because out of it were you taken. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return."
Careful not to disturb the oxygen mask, Arthur gently rested his fingers against his son's face.
Only what should've been soft skin was brittle and cracks began spider-webbing out from where the tips of England's fingers had touched. He immediately retracted his hand, but the damage was done and that side of his face fell in like a shattered pot.
It had been dirt, clay, earth breaking under his fingertips as the spell holding it in a different shape faded. Alfred had gathered it up and slathered it over himself. He hadn't aged up to meet the shape...to make it into a reality.
He'd gotten...delayed...
"Exactly. It was a reshaping. He's always at the center of his plans. He has to be. It's cuz he's got a limited scope of magical ability. Shapeshifting and plants are his forte. Because he was one. That and a bunch of other un-unified bits and-look, he's not going to be able to do a lot of intricate or team-styled spellwork. Let alone long distance hexing. Too many conflicting elements to-"
It wasn't right to feel discouraged at hearing that, but the fact that there'd be a lot of magic he just couldn't share with his child…or perform with him jointly.
So much...
Alfred would never fire send.
He'd never be able to enchant a weapon he'd forged.
He wouldn't be able to summon anything or anyone.
The UnSeelies that did come when he called did so because they just liked being nearby. Any other time the idea of goblins and the like being virtual ladies-in-waiting would've amused him but now…
Knowing Alfred couldn't really call aid to himself…
The UnSeelies were just stormcrows eager to watch what happened to his child next…
His eyebrows twitched and, unbidden, he thought of raging WWE crowds chanting "Give 'im the chair" and supplying one.
"Don't go bellyaching about it. Trust me, man, if I'm right. You'll be damn well delighted that things went that way."
"Why?" he choked out. So much would be missed out on.
Reilley smirked and paused for dramatic effect. The pillock. "He WAS too many things, Arthur."
"..."
"Remember? All that fluff that went into his making? Gunpowder and a compass and a feather and a daffodil and hell, there was probably sea breeze and—Cherokee was riiight. He shouldn't have survived it. Call it Danu's mercy. Call it fate's intervention. Call it God's will. The heavens gave him plantish adaptability as his chief means of survival. And he survives, Arthur. Like a weed."
"...Gardening powers...harvester."
"I know we usually think of them types as meek and mild. But mother's tad was one. Aye, there ain't much written about him, he lived in an age before all that but none of the ancients of the fae who do remember him do so without a shudder. He was a master of the forests, Artie. They had to drown him out of his power. Sink him-"
His poor little one. To be limited. Stunted. Magically.
Again, the image of a flower being swept away from too strong a tide filled his mind's eye and he felt helpless.
He shook his head.
"Honestly, Artie. If I wasn't so impressed, I'd be nervous. It's likely that the blight he did last Christmas was just a little tantrum and barely registered on the richter scale."
His poor little Roanoke armed only with flowers and sleeping under an open sky. He needed shelter and guidance and protection and care—
But he couldn't forget that raccoon-thing's laughter.
"But be warned, he is a favorite, you see?
Of the Great Spirit and the heavens..."
"His life will never be ordinary...and so no one in his life...will ever be safe.
"And you...figured this all out, how?"
"He transformed his hands to operate on you. And I watched him to change 'em back. He didn't even have to chant or anything. Because that's the kind of magic at his disposal. Naturally."
"Then how did he close the gate?"
Reilley's face puckered. "Look, I haven't figured out everything. I just shared what I-"
If what Reilley said was true, it should've been fundamentally beyond his skill.
But he obviously did it.
So how?
He stared again at the small toy soldier, which he only now recognized as one he'd carved himself.
The child really had gall.
To use something he'd made for love of him against him!
He started for it, but Reilley grabbed his arm. "Oh no you don't. Watch."
He reached a hand near the doll and flicked. Ripples spread out.
"Force field?! Who taught him that?"
"Not a force field, Artie. An exclusionary spell. Just us five aren't welcome. I'd wager those soldiers were made from wood from this forest and Alfie-boy's exploited that-"
"Well, he needs to unmagick that-"
"It's the woods, Artie. The woods are magic. And this so-called clearing? It's a literal Dara Knot Infinity Ring. The toys he found in that coffin. So he made them voodoo dolls years ago. When his magic was sickly. Nah, he's borrowing." Thick red eyebrows furrowed as if studying what he'd just said. "I dunno. Anyways, these little voodoo dolls are blocking us out. He did a bangup job on yours. It's right there."
Sure enough, a small toy soldier was dangling on a branch not far from them. Worn red cloth was affixed to it.
Paint had been added to give it an impressive set of eyebrows and a dark scowl.
It almost compared to the grim one on his face.
"Anything else of note?" Arthur growled.
"Aye, you bet yer arse."
Arthur glared.
"I texted you! Wall o' text! Colonel Harris is the thin one. See him? Dead and right there, can you believe it? I dunno the rest o' his neighbors below but he's been bunking with a potent Gramarye and some of Al's crap. And I'm pretty sure there's an evil entity too, though it's concealing itself quite well. I know, I'm proud of me as well. I didn't leave even after I started sensin' it."
Arthur's eyes bulged.
"Yup, turns out there WAS a 'bad thing in the ground' indeed. And it's only talking to Alfie-boy. Special."
Texas leaned back on his haunches as he admired their handiwork.
Okay. Four creepy ass magic mirrors were up and standing! Take that Sphinx of Egypt!
Yeah, it wasn't the most beautiful repair job they'd ever done but it was good enough.
And yeah, they were kinda terrifying and less because the antique glass was darkened and spotted to all hell and back and more because they only reflected Al and nobody else.
But he was in too deep in it to back out now. C'mon Tex, ford that river!
Well, three of them scary mirrors reflected Al. The fourth didn't reflect anything at all.
And the three reflections that were present weren't Al here and now.
Mirror one and two had kiddie versions of Al in a child's gown.
The first had blackened spots obscuring the chest and was balancing a bushel of apples against his hip.
The second had cracks all through where Al's head should be and he cradled what looked like an armful of pinecones.
The third was a teenager and had a shard missing through over half of its face and held wheat between its fingers almost like a quill.
It gradually dawned on him that the landscape behind each Al was in different seasons.
He stared hard at number four and its clear bright sky and caught sight of the asymmetry of the bottom.
Damn thing had snapped off. No wonder it had been the hardest one to prop up. He returned to the coffin and searched it again.
He was successful but bought it at personal cost.
He swore loudly and inspected his thumb. He wrapped a bandanna around the deep cut and grumbled about needing a tetanus shot. He then gingerly pulled the section out and carried it over.
He wrapped the whole thing with duct tape using a stick to brace the back.
"There you are."
It was strange. The other three reflections were standing.
This one though.
"C'mon, slacker." He tapped at the glass.
The figure was slumped over on the ground beside a pond or something among an almost absurd amount of greenery. One hand was in the water near a floating lily.
And he was the only one who was Al's current age.
His eyes were closed and a flower crown rested haphazardly on him.
He knocked on the image. "Wake up."
Oddly enough, the other reflections turned and eyeballed Tex then.
"Eep." He shuddered.
But they were still Al. Soooo...he couldn't be afraid. He wouldn't.
He...
His throat went dry and he carefully reached for the bone knife Scotland had entrusted him with for training. (And that he kinda misused puncturing a raft instead.)
It was an object of power, he'd been told. And a means for him to channel and conduct his magic through until the cosmos had decided he was ready to have his own personal one. Or somethin' like that.
He swallowed and took in a deep breath.
His fingers began to tingle as the knife began thrumming.
This was about more than acknowledging his own power; it was about embracing it. No longer straddling the line between spheres and crossing over. Because he wanted to be a part of this world. With Al.
He gripped the hilt hard and bet his everything and finally felt...magic in his fingertips.
And he knew just what to do with it.
"Meet me halfway," Tex breathed.
That was always their deal...which had long ago stopped being a compromise and was the best promise they could make.
"Cuz I'll always meet you there," the Texan vowed.
He tapped the glass for a third time with the knife.
Glowing electric blue eyes snapped open.
Alfred gasped.
And Tex turned. "Al! Allie, I-"
It was hard to contain. He finally felt his brother. And hot damn! He was riiiiiight there! They felt as close as all the times they'd been tied up together back-to-back. This had to be the connection that Arthur had gotten to lord over him! Well now Texas was on the scene, y'all!
Hell to the power of YEAH! "Al!?"
He rushed over to him.
Alfred stared around the clearing and mumbled, "I remember."
Shouldn't that have been a good thing?
"Al?"
Nothing showed on his brother's face, but any demands for explanations or congratulations died on his tongue at the flare of emotion near him.
"Allie…?"
"...I remember...why I wanted to forget."
Read & Review Please! : DDD