This had gone straight to hell.
There were children involved. Jack resisted the urge to flee as they walked down the hall. He swallowed, stuffing shaking hands into his coat pockets. Calm. He shouldn't be staying here this long, with this much quiet in between moments, Jack thought frantically, tamping down hysteria. There was too much time to think, and old grief touched his toes like an incoming tide: cold, damp, and inevitable. If he ran, he could get away. If he ran—
I've got a lot of dirt to shake off my shoes, he'd told Gwen. He hadn't been lying.
The little dragon trotting beside Daine turned and cheeped at him. Her scales had started to turn gray, and Jack looked at her, hiding behind a familiar mask of humor and concealing sheer, unadulterated panic. Daine had been right. The young dragon, barely up to his knees on all fours, was magnificent. She was scaled delicately, more like a lizard than a fish, and kept on changing colors. She'd been blue when he met her, and then yellow and now gray. Her snout was serpentine, her eyes blue and slit pupiled. The wings on her back looked far too small to carry her in fight, and her tail was half again her length, her neck long and slender.
His grandson had been magnificent, too. Jack pushed down the bile that rose sharply in his throat. His mind wanted to supply a name for the boy, but Jack flinched away. It was easier to live with himself, if he didn't remember what the child had been called. Jack forced the horrific memory back into the depths of his mind and looked around desperately for a distraction.
Kitten is an Immortal, something whispered into his mind as his eyes fell once more to the dragon. If nothing kills her, she'll never die.
She'll never die. Safe, she'll live as long as you do. Jack did not tremble. "You shouldn't let her come, it probably won't be safe," he told Daine weakly. Keep your children away from me, he wanted to beg. Please, please, keep your children away.
"I don't think she'll let us go without her," Daine replied easily, and Jack winced at her apparent unconcern. You don't understand, he wanted to cry, but of course he kept his mouth shut. You don't understand!
Kitten was an innocent, the perfect sacrificial lamb for a cruel universe, and it sent chills up and down Jack's spine. So much blood on his hands, so much. This wasn't fair. He never should've left that merchant ship. Those people were rotten scoundrels, and the more of them that died the better. These Tortallans were good, and they shouldn't be around people like Jack. He had to get out of here.
Alanna led them up some stairs and down some more, thoroughly twisting Jack around, until he was unsure if he would be able to find his way out, if he needed to. He wanted to run. Right now, he wanted to run away from the mere possibility of another child's blood on his hands. But his acting was good; he followed Alanna, Daine and Numair placidly. Finally, they reached a room that looked like a library. A servant was just laying out a plate of breakfast in the middle of the largest table when they walked in.
"Thank you," Alanna told him politely. Jack barely heard her, scanning the room frantically for exits.
"My lady," the servant murmured, and left with a bow. Alanna sat, and Daine and Numair followed suit. Jack slid carefully into a seat next to Numair, and tried not to flinch when the dragon hopped up onto a beside next to him.
"Alright," the Lady Knight began, taking what looked like a pastry of some kind from the plate that the servant laid out. "Tell me everything."
That was exactly what Jack had not wanted to hear. He froze, eyes wild, and heard nothing but his grandson's eerie, awful scream in his ears. His muscles tensed, and he wanted nothing more in that moment other than to leap and flee, bargains with gods be damned. There was a door behind Alanna, on the other side of the room, just there- he could—
"We met Jack a little down the road from my tower," Numair supplied, beginning when he saw how Jack had tensed. The panic faded, then: Jack remembered where he was and which story Alanna was asking for. She didn't want the horror, she wanted what had happened since he'd reached Tortall. He forced himself to relax, shooting Numair a grateful look, and took a pastry. The food would focus him into the moment, and, chewing, he let his monstrous memories fade away, back into the darkness where they belonged. "He'd been attacked by a spidren, and his coat was ruined. He stayed with us for a week while Mistress Carra – you know her, right? She's a Gifted seamstress in Stone Hill – was fixing it."
"I keep hearing about this Gift," Jack interrupted, ruthlessly forcing himself to participate in the conversation. He needed this information; it was important to know about this world. "What is it?"
Alanna's eyebrows rose in surprise. She swallowed her food. "You're really not from around here," she said slowly.
"No." Jack shook his head. Focus.
The Lioness raised a hand that began to glow violet. "The Gift," she said simply, and Jack nodded to himself. That made more sense than it didn't.
"I figured it was something like that," he murmured, and then sighed. Deciding to continue with Numair's tale, he began. "Alright then. While I was staying at their tower, I was… visited, I suppose, by a badger." He shot an uneasy look to Daine.
"Alanna knows," she assured him gently, and he nodded.
"Yes," Alanna said. "But why would he visit you?" The question was directed to Jack, who grimaced.
"He struck a bargain with me," Jack continued, and then took the plunge. Daine and Numair had been open-minded enough. "I'm—not from around here, obviously. I'm from a different world."
Alanna's eyebrows met her forehead for the second time, but she didn't comment. Jack's opinion of her rose considerably.
"He presented me with a problem," Jack continued, "your world is cut off from the rest of the universe, in short. The Guardian of your Gates has gone missing, and the badger wants me to get him back, and to deal with anything that comes through the Gates in the meantime. The weevils came through before I got here; they're not even from my world—I don't know where they're from, but I've dealt with them before. They're part of the bargain, since they fell through. Daine and Numair," here he nodded to them, "have agreed to help me, and specified that you can be trusted. So I'm trusting you." He took a breath and carefully studied Alanna's reaction.
"That's a lot to take in," she murmured, frowning. "But the most immediate problem is those weevils. What are they like?"
"Six feet tall," Jack supplied, rattling facts off gratefully, "Man-shaped, with dark, rippled skin and four large primary canines. They have hinged jaws, so their bite is larger and stronger than it would seem at first glance, and they have low-level telepathy. That means they're all connected to each other. Stronger than they look, faster than two legs would suggest. They lived in sewers, and they tended to be peaceful unless startled or threatened, living off detritus and the like. Every so often, though, one would go rogue. They're dangerous when they're cornered, or decide to go after fresh meat."
"You said they responded to your friend," Daine put in quietly. Jack flinched visibly and cursed himself. His damn past, sneaking up on him. When would he learn to keep his mouth shut?
"Ye-es," he managed. "Owen was something of a special case." He repressed another flinch when the name slipped out. Why did he keep doing that?
"How so?" asked Numair.
"He—" Jack took a deep breath. Oh, but he did not want to be talking about this. He did not want to be reviewing his mistakes with Owen, not to these bright, innocent people. "He was killed."
This was a stupid idea. He really did not need this right now, not when he was already swamped with memories. Owen' story was a tragic one, and not one that Jack particularly wanted to share. "But we were stupid. There was this—glove. It brought people back to life, but only for a few minutes. We screwed up. I screwed up. I brought Owen back, but it stuck." He hitched a breath and kept his face blank and expressionless. "The weevils started responding to him then."
"You brought someone back to life," Alanna said slowly, clearly not believing him. "With a glove."
"We destroyed the glove," Jack put in darkly. "Because Owen—he was bitter before, but this was awful. He couldn't heal himself, you see, if he was hurt. His life functions had stopped. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't eat, he was just there. He tried to commit suicide a few times, but that didn't work. He was stuck in this limbo." And worse, Jack thought painfully, with his second death, when he was eradiated, he still didn't die. His body was destroyed, and he was still there; even now, he'd had to bargain with gods to rest in peace. Oh, Owen.
"That's horrible," Daine whispered. Jack nodded, very carefully keeping himself at least appearing composed.
"How did the weevils react?" Alanna asked. Her eyes were sympathetic, but Jack was absurdly grateful that she asked about the facts. That, he could do.
"They moaned and ran away from him," Jack replied, and cleared his voice when it cracked. "They bowed and scraped and cringed if he got too close. Like they were scared of him."
"So they're afraid of—things coming back to life?" Numair asked thoughtfully. Jack gave a bitter, hysterical bark of laughter, unable to contain it. The Tortallans looked at him oddly, but he shook his head at them.
"No," Jack said darkly. "No, not at all. It was just Owen."
Daine reached across the table and tried to take his hand, responding to the pain in Jack's voice. He jerked away, refusing the comfort. "Anyway," he continued, "That's about all I know, except for how to contain them."
"How do you contain them?" Alanna asked, her tone businesslike. She stuck to the facts, and did not comment on the fact that Jack was crumbling to pieces. I like her, Jack decided, scrabbling to stay focused and not lose himself in his own past.
"Cover their heads," he replied immediately, glad of the subject change. "We had an injection and a spray that used to do it, but I don't think I can recreate either. Do you have tranquilizers?"
"Do we have what?" Daine demanded.
"Sleeping potions, spells," Numair supplied. "And yes."
Jack nodded. "Good. We can use those."
"I'm coming with you," Alanna stated flatly. Startled, Jack opened his mouth to protest, but Alanna cut him off. "I'm a knight of the realm, and I refuse to go back to Corus."
"It's that business with the new page, isn't it?" Numair sighed. "The new girl. You're not allowed to help."
Jack blinked at the rapid change of topic. Alanna huffed. "Yes. And I need work. So I'm coming with you."
"I suppose we can't argue with that," Numair said, and Jack gaped at him.
"Are you serious?" he demanded, suddenly furious. Why did people keep on insisting in putting themselves in danger on his behalf? It would only get them killed! "What is this, Lord of the Rings? We're all going to go on a merry quest together?"
"Got a problem with that?" Alanna challenged. Jack stared at her.
"We're trying to help you, Jack," Daine insisted.
"I can't imagine why," Jack cried to no one in particular. "I work alone. I keep telling you, and you keep ignoring me. I ruin people's lives; do not follow me." And it was true, he wanted to wail. He could list them – two dates for each name he could give- the day they'd met and a death. The second date tended to be very close to the first one.
"It's our home, you know," Numair interrupted quietly. "This world. It's part of our job to protect it. You may have a bargain with the badger, so there must be some way that you gain by doing this, but the three of us—" he gestured at himself, Daine and Alanna, "we live here. We need this place. If there's a new Immortal, it's a duty to our realm we are doing."
"He's right," Alanna said. "We're not following you. We're taking you along as an adviser."
"Because that's so much better," Jack spat sarcastically. Kitten, quiet up until now, cheeped. They all looked at her for a moment. Jack shivered and looked away.
"We'll need supplies," Alanna said, interrupting the silence that had fallen. "It's a long journey. Come on, let's see the kitchens. I have to say goodbye to my family, as well; they won't be pleased."
She has a family, Jack thought with a sinking feeling in his gut. He didn't say anything, but his heart felt like it had twisted in his chest. Just what he needed. More bloody children. And he liked Alanna. He had to stop liking people; this was going to end badly.
That night, they packed to leave the next day. Alanna ordered salt pork and more of those soup roll things, as well as skins of water. It was shaping up to be the start of a long journey and at dinner Jack felt the first stirrings of a sort of guilty excitement. He was going to have a team again. There would be four of them, and they were going weevil hunting, something he had enjoyed in Torchwood. Of course, he'd enjoyed it mostly because of Ianto, but that was besides the point.
Alanna turned out to have three little ones, ranging from about eleven to nine. Jack very carefully kept his distance, letting their names slip from his mind as soon as they were introduced. It was best if he didn't remember them.
They finished dinner reasonably early and Jack made some sort of excuse to get himself away. The little dragon tried to follow but he refused, and Daine took the hint.
"Stay here, Kit," she told the dragon. "I want to know if you learned anything new with Tkaa."
Relieved, Jack slipped out. Still tempted to run, he held himself in check and forced himself, reluctantly, to get some sleep. They would leave early tomorrow, and this would be the last comfortable bed he'd see for a while.