Title: Seed of Darkness
Rating: T
Summary: A new threat descends upon Cloister and Jack must use the Crown of Erik to call on some unlikely allies. Isabelle/Fallon, Fumm/OC
Disclaimer: I'm not making a dime off this story. Poor me.
Chapter Five: Legends
The book's spine creaked as Isabelle slammed it shut, then tossed it aside. It skidded across a long tabletop to bump up against a pile of similarly discarded tomes with fantastical creatures on each cover, their warped, twisted bodies painstakingly outlined in silver and gold. Each volume was stuffed with brittle paper, making them as heavy as old mountain stones inscribed with long-forgotten knowledge. Knowledge that was, in the case at hand, absolutely useless.
Isabelle blew out a huff of frustrated anger, a long exhale that lifted a few lank strands of hair out of her dark-rimmed eyes. She glanced over at the arched window. The palace was far enough away from the marketsquare that no smoke could be seen, but she imagined she could smell a faint acrid sting riding on the breeze, flesh cooking and bones charring in an agony of unholy fire.
Her kingdom was burning.
She didn't remember Jack carrying her back to the palace after the massacre in the village. They said she'd slept through a whole day and half of the next. Long enough for things to go from dismal to absolutely terrifying. Elmont had brought as many people as he could into the palace for safekeeping. Guards were posted on the walls around Cloister, changing shifts at regular intervals, and the drawbridge was raised. Not that it does much good, she thought miserably. The dragons just fly merrily right over it.
Worst of all was knowing that there were still people out there in the streets. The palace wasn't large enough to hold everyone. Anyone left outside either learned very quickly how to survive or died. Elmont had been reluctant to tell her the details until she'd commanded him to do so. People hurry about their business while constantly checking the skies, he'd said. Most of them won't come out at all, but huddle in any buildings still standing. There's food shortages and disease, among other lovely things.
Every time the lizards swooped out of the sky to attack Cloister, her brave Guardians challenged them. And every time, the Guardians suffered casualties while inflicting none. Arrows were shrugged off like sticks. Swords couldn't cut through the tough hide. None of the kingdom's finest warriors could put so much as a scratch on them.
Except for her. And she was being kept within the safety of the palace. As usual.
She stood up, stalked over to a bookshelf, and pulled out another book. They have to have weaknesses, she thought as she dropped the book on the desk. It fell open onto a beautiful full-page illustration of a silver gryphon in flight, which Isabelle barely glanced at before turning to another chapter. Even the giants would go down if you shot enough arrows into them! Her eyes itched as her tired brain tried to decipher the tight, closely-packed writing. She blinked, and the letters swam as though they were beneath an inch of clear water. So many sleepless nights spent in the library was showing in bags under her eyes. Knots as thick as morning-glory vines were in her hair. And her mood, well, it was not at its best at the moment.
"Isabelle?" She jumped, so absorbed in research she didn't even hear him approach. For such a gangly young man, Jack was ever light on his feet. Took a moment to gather herself before turning to face him, certain that he would look just as bad or worse than she did.
She was right; he looked horrid. His cheeks were smudged with dirt and ash, while his cloak and breeches smelled as though they'd been left to dry in a fireplace. His cheekbones were more prominent than usual, the cherub-soft angles of his face having been pared down so that he appeared half-starved. He was carrying a wooden tray bearing a few pieces of bread, a hunk of cheese, and a few thin slivers of apple. A small knife was placed on the edge and looked perilously close to falling off.
"Anastasa said you chased her off when she tried to feed you," he said, then set the tray down next to the book she was currently studying. Isabelle gulped as her face grew warm. Ana had come by earlier with a pot of tea and biscuits, only to be told I'm too busy! Go away! She'd gone, of course, obedient servant that she was - but it still left a bitter taste in Isabelle's mouth for being so rude.
"I'm sorry," she said. A spot on her right forearm itched, and she scratched at it restlessly. Wherever the dragon blood had touched her skin was now red and puckered, tiny little blisters that seemed determined to drive her mad with their incessant tingling. As if I needed anything more to rob me of sanity, she thought. I think the dragons murdering my people will accomplish that just fine. "It's just that..."
"Isabelle." He reached out, gently slapped her fingers away from the blister before she removed another layer of skin with her persistent scratching. "Don't do this to yourself. It's not your fault."
"I know, Jack." She spun around to face the table, the tray of food on one end and the book on the other. Felt Jack's hands on her shoulders, his strong farmboy fingers digging into the tense muscles, gently kneading and releasing. Her whole body sagged as she leaned back into his reassuring solidness, felt his chest rise and fall through the thin material of her dress. "It's just that we haven't...there hasn't even been a formal burial yet. My father's been dead for almost a week and there hasn't been a ceremony. And..."
And his head's still in the belly of that dragon. Bile wanted to crawl up her throat and escape at the thought. Nothing can cut through their hide. We'll never get it out.
The hair was lifted off the nape of her neck as he sighed, each breath a cool touch on her fevered skin. "I'm sorry I didn't get there in time. You shouldn't have had to face that alone." He shifted, wanting to pull her closer but she stepped away. The hem of her cream-colored dress swirled as she spun to face him, its pattern of embroidered leaves stitched with green and gold thread appearing to flutter around her ankles. Her eyes were hard and unblinking when she spoke.
"I killed it, Jack."
"You practically threw yourself in its mouth!" he said, taking a tentative step toward her. "Elmont was furious! Still is!"
"I'm well aware of that! But I killed it!" She turned her back on him to face the table again, eyeing the books piled on it as though they were conspirators plotting a very nasty joke at her expense. "We can kill them! They're just...it's just...almost impossible.
She let her head hang down, let loose tendrils of hair curtain her face, and watched them rise and fall in time with her breath. Her nails were biting into the edge of the table hard enough to leave marks in the wood. If we don't think of something fast there won't be a kingdom left to save. What are we going to do? She wanted to hear her father's kind voice, feel his reassuring arms steady her while he guided them all through this nightmare the way he always had. It's just like losing Mama, only worse. Because now they're both gone.
Sounds of something heavy being scraped over the floor behind her. A glance over her shoulder confirmed it was Jack, pushing chairs around.
"How's this for a bargain?" he asked, collapsing into one overstuffed chair and gesturing for her to take the other one. "You can tell me everything you've managed to find out about our scaly friends while we eat."
Placing the tray of food on her lap, she eyed the bread, fruit, and cheese dubiously, like there might be worms wiggling in them. "Are you sure? It's not good news."
"Didn't think it was." He reached over, picked up the knife, and began spreading cheese over a slice of bread. "But we need to know. And you need to eat."
"All right." She picked up an apple slice between her fingers. It was yellowed near the center and squishy in places but still edible. A kingdom under siege can't afford to be picky, she thought grimly.
"There isn't much that's known about dragons and what is known is mostly speculation. But I think I know why we're seeing so many of them all of a sudden." Her throat worked as she swallowed another bite of apple. "It's a breeding season."
"Breeding?" Jack was picking at a slice of bread, only making a pretense at eating. Because he wants me to eat it all, Isabelle thought, and the realization made her feel an odd combination of love and guilt, so that she took a few seconds longer than necessary to select her own slice of bread and slather it with cheese. Stalling seemed a good idea, since she wished she didn't have to be the one telling him this.
"They breed only once every ten-thousand years or so." Jack quirked an eyebrow, and she shrugged. "The Historia Regum Albion didn't give any precise dates, except to say that the last recorded breeding season was before King Erik's time. So its been a while."
"No doubt," he said dryly. "Go on."
"The little ones come up out of cracks in the Earth to feed on-"
A bite of breadcrust had apparently decided not to go down without a fight, as Jack began choking and pounding his chest. Isabelle put up her hands in a vain attempt to deflect the spray of wet crumbs flung in her general direction. When he finally got control of himself, he sent her a wan, shaky smile while brushing off his trouser legs."Little ones?" He sounded disbelieving, and she didn't blame him. "You mean the ones we've seen are just babies?"
"I'm afraid so." She nodded. "I told you it was bad news." Her body suddenly felt heavy enough to sink into the feathery cushions of the chair and disappear. It was as though telling him these things had opened a valve in her cluttered mind and vital strength was leaking from every nerve, muscle, and bone she possessed, hollowing her out like a corn husk. I need sleep. I can't tell if this is total despair or just plain exhaustion. A glance out the window showed her a tranquil light blue sky, but a line of dark-bellied clouds could be seen marching on the horizon. Her shoulders slumped further into the chair. It's probably both.
"All the great scholars suspect that in the olden days, there were things that could kill them. Natural predators." Pain flared in the space between her eyes, a sign of another brain-smashing headache coming on. She lifted a hand up, pressed her fingertips gently against the spot while she spoke. "But those creatures are all extinct now. There's nothing to keep them in check! They can go wherever they want, eat whatever they want without fall..."
"And let me guess," Jack sighed, "they like the taste of humans best of all?"
"Isn't that always how the story goes?" The tenderness between her eyes wasn't going away. Sighing, she let her hand drop back into her lap. Felt another blister on her forearm begin teasing the underside of her skin with soft little prickles of heat, resisted the urge to scratch with an effort. "They don't seem to have any weaknesses, Jack. None that are easy to exploit, anyway." She shuddered at the thought of how she'd killed the dragon on the steps of the abbey, at the memory of her hands slicked with plum-colored blood and the steel-scraping peal of its dying screeches in her ears. I still can't believe I did that. I must've been mad.
But perhaps a little madness is what we'll need to live through this.
That last thought stayed for just a few hot seconds in her head, then her fingers closed around the wooden handle of the cheeseknife, gripping it tight enough to feel each tiny splinter in the rough grain. She spent a moment contemplating the soft, white lump of cheese left on her tray, then lifted the knife and stabbed it clean through the center of the gooey mess as though it were a poisonous creature about to bite her. "This is useless, Jack. I'm not doing any good here!" She set the tray down, nearly spilling bits of uneaten food onto the unruly mountain of old grimoires, mystical texts, and treatises, then bolted up out of the chair and began to pace, her dress swishing in time with her quick strides.
Jack stiffened, his whole body brought from a relaxed slouch to alert wariness in seconds, helped along by Elmont's training and the scarily determined look on his fiance's face. "Elmont wants you to..."
"I know what Elmont wants!" Isabelle snapped. "He wants me to stay where it's safe!"
"So do I!"
"I know!" Her pacing slackened, eventually stopping altogether as she spun round to face him. Her eyes were bright, watery, and full of desperation. "I know you don't want anything to happen to me! But I need to be doing something that matters, Jack! I need to be out there with my people! How am I supposed to make the world a better place if I can't even save my own kingdom?" Tremors like tiny explosions inched their way up her calves, set her knees to quivering, and spread in merciless little jitters up to her shoulders. She hugged herself, trying to squeeze some order back into her chaos-wracked body.
Suddenly Jack's hands were gripping her elbows, and she let herself fall into his arms. Breathed him in, like a drowning woman struggling for a final gulp of air.
"I have an idea," she heard him say through the wool in her ears. His shirt would make a nice bed, if she could find a chance to sleep.
"What?" Even her voice sounded wrapped in layers of cloth.
"We'll go to the abbey. The monks know more about these things than anyone else."
I thought of that too, Jack. And I didn't want to ask for their help unless it was absolutely necessary. His fingers were twining through her hair, pulling gently at the tangles, The pain in her forehead receded just a bit, like thunderous breakers ebbing away from warm sand. Thoughts were coming clearer as the tender touch of Jack's fingers sent pleasant little jolts of electricity fizzing over her sensitized skin. Minutes passed and she was finally able to get control of her shaking body as the love of her Prince filled her with fresh determination.
Jack was about to say something else when her kiss stopped him. It lasted for one long, glorious moment before they broke apart.
"All right," she said, her eyes meeting his. "We'll go at once."
If Jack was startled by her sudden agreement, it was well-hidden by his blushing cheeks. she gently disentangled herself from his arms."Elmont should go too. He needs to hear whatever they have to say." She could go to the abbey, though she shuddered at the thought of climbing up the abbey steps. They've washed the stones clean of blood by now, surely! Even if they haven't, we should go there. We need a solution for this, and the sooner the better!
"It's settled, then." Jack nodded. "We'll go to the abbey. I'm sure the monks will know what to do."
{O}
"There's nothing we can do."
The abbot stood with his back to them, staring out the single small window of his cell. Isabelle fought down an impatient urge to stomp on his toes and make him face her.
She hadn't expected a monk's cell to be anything fancy, and so wasn't surprised by the bare stone floor and almost non-existent furnishings. Though it seemed that the monastery leader did have a bit more space to himself. A prayer rug lay at the foot of a small, rickety cot - or something that could vaguely be called a cot since it was basically two wooden boards with a threadbare blanket thrown over them. The squashed goosefeather pillow seemed almost an afterthought. One wall of the rectangular room was taken up by a writing desk - complete with inkpot and brushes - that looked as though it were hand-carved, while a small bookshelf crammed with volumes of what Isabelle assumed to be holy texts leaned uncertainly beside it, resembling a beacon tower overlooking a placid, wooden sea.
"What!?" Elmont had joined them, and he looked about as happy as a stallion whose master had decreed it time to become a gelding. Jack stood next to Isabelle, and she let her hand drift over to his so their fingers touched. This is our last hope! "Surely you know some spell or-"
Turning away from the window, the abbot fixed Elmont with a hard stare. "We abandoned the dark magics long ago. Dabbling in them brought the wrath of Heaven down on us."
Sarcasm laced every word of the knight's reply with a venomous bite. "You mean the wrath of hundreds of hell-ugly giants?"
"Just so. They were God's Messengers."
Elmont's fists clenched, and though Isabelle knew his sense of honor wouldn't permit him to attack a holy man, it was clear the Guard Captain would've liked to let himself go a bit. "Man, we are dying here! There must be something...!"
She took a deep breath. Time to try out a gentler touch. "Father, please." Isabelle kept her voice soft and pleading as she addressed the abbot. With his back to the window, a few thin rays of the setting sun fell like a halo over his shoulders. He was surprisingly tall, clad in brown robes that dragged over the floor when he walked. Two tufts of reddish-brown hair stuck up like duck feathers at the sides of his otherwise shaven head, and his face was plump and boyish. So young, Isabelle thought. Why, he would even be handsome if he smiled more. He wasn't smiling now. Far from it. Keeping her fingers twined with Jack's, she tried one more time. "Is there nothing you have that might save us? Anything at all? My father died on the steps of this abbey!" She hadn't planned to say it, the words just tumbled out before she could catch them. They broke through the stone wall of the abbot's expression, though. He looked away briefly, and when his blue eyes found hers again she inhaled sharply to see tears welling up in them. He lifted a hand, combed it through the sad remnants of his hair, and the loose sleeve of his robe flapped on his skinny arm, When he spoke, his somber voice broke a little. "I know, Princess."
The abbot's left hand dug around in a deep pocket of his robe, fished out a silver crucifix on a chain, and clutched it to his chest as he wiped at his eyes. Through the window, the sunlight finally died as the last golden ray was snuffed out behind a thick mass of purple and orange-streaked clouds. "You know I have seen the destruction those demons have wrought. Two of my brother monks were whisked away to their deaths just yesterday, and even more are missing, lost while trying to save innocents. It is horrible, princess! And yet..." He paused, choked off whatever he'd been about to say.
Isabelle took a step towards him. Jack followed her, looking worried as he laid a hand on her shoulder. "And yet what?"
Spots of tinkling silver light flashed on the dusty walls as the crucifix dangled in his fist. He swallowed a few times as his aloof facade crumpled and he became what he really was: a terribly frightened young man far, far out of his depth and sinking fast. "And yet I fear this horror may be preferable than calling upon their enemies to aid us!"
Elmont stepped up, the sword buckled at his hip jangling loudly. "What enemies?"
The abbot's breath left him in a long sigh. Brown cloth rippled like cognac as he slipped the crucifix back in his pocket, extinguishing its pearl-white sparkle. Then he flowed across the room to the bookshelf. "You have already met them." His brows furrowed as he scanned the small selection of ancient texts, thin lips moving as if in whispered prayer, then he reached in and withdrew a small book that looked old enough to crumble apart at the slightest touch. Isabelle felt her heart run a few beats faster as what he said began to sink in. You've already met them? Does that mean what I think it means?
He crossed the room to her, offered the book with both hands. She took it gingerly. then almost dropped it when she realized it was bound in dried animal skin. "This book is the last relic that was saved from King Erik's reign. We have...kept it in secret. To study."
"Meaning you were supposed to have destroyed it," Jack said, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "What is it? A spellbook?"
"No. A journal."
"A journal?" Isabelle's fingertips wanted to skitter away from the organic feel of the book's cover, a soft, squishy texture like dead ratskin but thicker. She laid it down on the polished wood surface of the writing desk and opened it to a random page. The book exhaled powdery dust right in Isabelle's face, making her raise a hand up to stifle a cough. When the coughing subsided, she studied the yellowing pages with narrowed eyes, while Jack and Elmont peered over her shoulders like curious schoolboys. Rows of strange, angular writing scrawled over the parchment like needlework in a delicate hand. Some symbols vaguely resembled animals, while others were simply lines intersecting at odd points like tree branches snuggling together. Isabelle's eyes watered trying to decipher it.
"I can't read it."
"No, you can't." The abbot came up to stand beside her, placing his palms flat upon the desk. "No one on Earth can read this. It's written in Gantish, the alphabet of the Fierce Ones."
"You mean the giants?" Elmont sounded incredulous. "Those brutes have their own language?"
Isabelle turned another page, the old parchment crinkling like moth wings. "Who wrote it? This couldn't have been made by a giant!"
"It wasn't. This was the journal of a human woman who walked among the giants for many years. She lived in their houses, learned their speech, even ate their food."
Isabelle shivered at the idea of a human eating what passed for food among Gantua's citizens. Judging by the sudden pallor of his skin, Elmont felt likewise. "How did she manage that? They're about as welcoming and friendly as an arrow in your throat!"
The abbot shrugged. "Their chieftain at that time granted her protection." Then his posture straightened as he fell back into the regal manner of a mystic about to give a stubborn pupil a lecture. "Do not judge them too harshly, Princess. They act according to their nature. As do we all." Isabelle caught a glimpse of Jack, who she could've sworn rolled his eyes in a most adorable You've got to be joking me look.
I completely agree, darling, she thought, pursing her lips into a thin line. She straightened up, turning to skewer the abbot with a most unladylike glare. Impatience edged her voice when she spoke, making it a brittle shard of jagged glass. "They can act according to their nature all they like, as long as they don't threaten my family or my kingdom." This doesn't even sound like me, she thought, as the abbot responded to her piercing stare with a slight, almost imperceptible flinch. Who am I turning into? "Your relic is very fascinating, but how will this book help us, sir?"
"Here." The abbot's hands trembled as he carefully turned several brittle pages, then stopped. Jack groaned. Elmont very discreetly muffled a curse with his hand, while Isabelle simply stared at the exquisitely detailed illustration in the book, trying to piece it together.
It looked as though the artist had relied on plant dyes instead of simple ink. The vividness of the colors was impressive, especially considering the book's antiquity. There was no mistaking the green, black, twisted figure of the young dragon emerging from its egg, the long, slender upper torso decanting itself from the broken shell as the reptile's head swayed on its S-shaped neck. For an instant, the sensation of little hairy feet running beneath the blistered skin of her forearms was overwhelming, then she tore her eyes away from the caricature of the dragon, fastening them instead on the beings depicted attacking it.
Giants. Armored and snarling, carrying axes, swords, and other less recognizable implements of carnage. They seemed to be attacking the newborn dragon with savage joy. The abbot turned the page to another drawing, this one of a much bigger dragon with its ribbed wings spread. A stream of marigold-orange flame lashed out of its toothy mouth at the giants surrounding it, hacking at its legs and flailing barbed tail. Spots of purplish dye roughly the shade of dragon's blood dotted the image, a single long spray of it issued at the point where a giant's axe made contact with the dragon's throat.
"Well, what does this mean?" said Elmont. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we supposed to assume that giants and dragons are mortal enemies just from some fancy drawings in an old journal?"
"It's all we have." Isabelle stared intently as she traced the outlines of the giants with her eyes. A few of them looked familiar, and she could swear that one had a blob of dark color on its shoulder that resembled a second head. Her hands gripped the edge of the table like a weapon. Loose strands of hair fell into her eyes as she asked the abbot without looking up, "You say this woman lived with the giants? Was she an ally of theirs?"
"She was a noblewoman in the court of King Erik. That's all we know."
Isabelle let her eyes close. From somewhere in the monastery she could hear monks chanting, their monotonous voices rose and fell in eerie waves. A breath of smoky incense drifted from somewhere. She inhaled deeply, hoping to absorb whatever prayers were mixed in with the scent. "We can't," she finally said. "We can't bring them here. Even if they can kill dragons, we don't have any of the magic beans." She stopped, noticing the twin looks of guilt on the faces of Jack and Elmont. "Do we?"
'We...ah...stumbled over some pods growing wild in the forest several days ago." The knight stared down at his shoes, and Isabelle felt as though the world she knew had just shattered and left her staring into broken, twisted reflections of the people she knew. Because she was used to that look of utter repentance on her own face, not his. "We would've told you but...given current events..."
"It's fine, Elmont." She waved a hand at him dismissively. And you wouldn't have told me a thing. You would've told my father. "If we plant one, will it sprout?"
"Yes, but..."
"Do it."
Elmont looked as though a battering ram just thumped his guts, while Jack seemed unfazed, but grim. Isabelle held her head high, her shoulders straight. A breeze from the open window teased her hair like a lover, picking up long strands and dropping them. The incense smell had faded, washed out by the nose-tingling green scent of approaching rain. An unintelligible mumbling started as the abbot's lips moved in prayer, and suddenly Isabelle knew what this change in her meant, understood what she was becoming.
"What?" Elmont sounded hoarse. "With all due respect, Princess, are you mad?"
"Plant the beanstalk!" she snapped. "We have King Erik's Crown. If we command them to fight for us, they can't refuse. And if they've fought with dragons before, it's all the better!" She faced Jack, her fiance, and felt a tiny seam split in her heart at the resigned look on his face. He knew what she was about to ask, so she was grateful when he spared her from doing so.
"I'll wear it," he said. "I'm the King."
This by no means comforted the abbot, who eyed the prayer rug like he thought he might need it soon. "The Crown is only as strong as the Will of whoever wears it. If your Will falters, even for a moment..."
"I can do it," he said, "But Isabelle, what if..?"
"If our two-headed friend shows up, I'll deal with him," she said, and mentally congratulated herself for sounding braver than she felt. A good leader never lets their fear prevent them from doing what has to be done. Her father taught her that. And she would need every one of his lessons now.
Because, God help me, I'm becoming a Queen.
"I've got a bad feeling about this," muttered Elmont, and everyone - even Isabelle - agreed with him.
{O}
Thunderheads churned like sour milk over their heads as the approaching storm gathered strength in the evening gloom. They'd ridden out as far from Cloister as they dared, stopping near the splintered ruin that used to be the home of Jack's Uncle. Getting across the burned field surrounding it was harrowing business, every other moment their nervous eyes would dart skyward hoping not to see shadowy wings sloughing through the murk above them. Isabelle wore her golden plate armor, along with her father's sword neatly fastened at her waist. Her hair was loose, with nothing preventing sharp gusts of wind from playing through it as they rode, blowing it out behind her like an almond stream.
Elmont was quiet the whole way, and Jack didn't blame him. Could've lived my whole life without ever seeing another giant again. But they may be our only hope of saving the kingdom.
"I think this is far enough," said Isabelle, as she brought her white mare to a halt. Tall grass waved around its hooves as she dismounted. Patches of blackened earth still marred the beauty of the countryside, giving it the appearance of a black and green quilt pieced together with torches.
"Here, my lady. Let me help." Anastasa sprang off the back of her spotted pony with surprising nimbleness and rushed over to take the arm of her mistress. The corner of Jack's mouth twitched at the look of resigned acquiescence on his fiancee's face. He'd heard only part of the blazing argument between the two about Ana's right to come along; he'd been preoccupied at the time with struggling into his riding boots, donning the Crown of Erik, and trying to make himself as King-like as possible. The lady in waiting absolutely refused to be separated from Isabelle again, going so far as to declare she would follow them from a distance if she wasn't allowed to ride with them. The argument had ended with Isabelle throwing her hands in the air and muttering something like "It's your funeral, Ana," though Jack wasn't sure of her exact words, what with Elmont barking instructions at him. "Tuck in your shirt, Jack! Keep your sleeves rolled up! Stand tall as you can and don't flinch, no matter what happens. Remember, they're giants! Notoriously hard to impress, that lot!"
As if he didn't know that.
'Here." Elmont unclipped a leather drawstring pouch from his belt and handed it over. "Best get this done before full dark." The bag weighed next to nothing in Jack's palm, yet what was inside was about to change their world, for good or ill. His fingers worked at the strings, pulling them apart until the pouch opened wide enough to allow the thing within to drop into his open hand.
Reflex almost made Jack toss it away. The tiny black seed quivered in his palm like an excited bee, sending forth waves of malignant anticipation as he knelt down to scoop up a handful of damp earth. He hesitated, stealing a glance up into the grim face of Elmont who crouched tensely beside him. After this, there was no going back, and they both knew it. What choice do we have? Jack's eyes must've communicated something of his thoughts to his friend, because the knight simply shrugged his leatherclad shoulders and nodded. Wind blew spatters of rain against his cheeks as the young King dropped the little seed of darkness into the shallow hole. "Right, then. Now I suggest we RUN, JACK!"
They'd barely sprinted more than ten feet before the stalk erupted out of the ground behind them. An onslaught of rushing air almost threw them to the ground as leaves the size of wagon wheels unfurled, their delicate veins throbbing as the enchanted beanstalk sucked up water and other, less definable energies to fuel its unnatural growth. A hand clamped down on Jack's arm, dragging him to his feet just as a snarl of new vines threaded through each other and soon a thick tangle of leaves and fleshy green tendrils was spiraling up, up, up into the sky, finally disappearing into the soupy thick mass of darkening clouds.
"What do we do now?" Ana whispered. She sounded breathless, and her green eyes were round as saucers.
I promised Brahmwell I would protect this kingdom. No matter what, Jack thought. He watched the beanstalk continue to unfold. Sensed Isabelle beside him, and despite the brave front she showed the world, it only took a glance at her pale face to know she was as afraid as he was of what they'd just done.
"We wait," said Elmont
{O}
Fallon couldn't believe it.
Either he was seeing things, or a beanstalk had just risen up through the thousand layers of clouds and made itself nice and comfortable at the edge of the cliff he currently stood upon, as merrily as you please.
"You see it too, don't you?" he asked his second head. The little creature spluttered as his mouth stretched, excitedly trying to form words while bobbing on his shoulder like an ugly flower.
"Yea! Yea! Yea! YEA!"
"Hmm." Maybe they were both hallucinating. After all, they'd only come to this exact same cliff to brood every single day since their defeat. But his nostrils flared when the tangy scent of rich green foliage reached him, exploding in a rush onto the air as the last leaf buds swelled and broke into vibrant, emerald life. Mist drifted in lazy circles around the vines, fluffy and serene as smoke rings from a pipe.
Smells never lied.
The tension in the air was thickening, growing damp with the promise of rain as clouds piled on top of each other. Rising wind buffeted the freshly sprouted stalk, making it sway so that its green tendrils seemed to writhe with a mind of their own. At this height, the wind could very quickly turn into a maelstrom, a force devastating to humans but a mere nuisance to someone his size. He would sometimes stand in the center of them and hurl rocks into the air, hoping they'd crash back down onto some unsuspecting human village.
Below him, a jagged bolt of lightning streaked from one cloud to the belly of another, staining the twilight sky vivid white for a split second before disappearing.
Perfect.
He roared.
"FEE! FYE! FOE! FUMM!"
His roar echoed throughout Gantua, bouncing off mountains and bending young trees to the ground. Birds rose up in clouds of chatter and frantic wingbeats. Herds of deer and sheep bounded for cover beneath shaking old oaks. Even bears nestled snug in their dens sniffed the air with apprehension. Humans believed the names of his brothers was a chant of some kind, and in a way they were right. Because every bird or beast living in Gantua knew hearing those names shouted into the wind meant battle and strife would soon follow.
They came. One by one each of his brothers stepped through the mist curtain to stand beside him at the cliff's edge. Fee, with his lanky dark hair obscuring half of his wrinkled face. Fye, stony-faced and massive as a mountain on two legs. Foe, covering a yawn with one hand while gripping a sword in the other. Even Fumm, his halo of black curly hair framing his surly expression, his upper lip curled with just the barest hint of teeth showing. They all came, stopping at the cliff's edge to stare in wonder and excitement.
"Blimey!"
"Where'd that come from?"
Fallon grunted as he tested the heft of his flail. He flicked it once, nodded in satisfaction as the iron ball tore through misty air in a beautiful arc of destruction. Wind shrieked around them as he felt a tug at his mind. He growled, recognizing the soulless voice of the Crown of Erik in his head, whispering to him, taunting him.
Compelling him.
Fee eyed the swaying beanstalk dubiously. "What do we do?"
"Onwards and downwards, brothers." Fallon grinned, a toothy predator's smile. His small head licked its lips. Huge leaves crumpled under his touch as he scrambled onto the stalk, leapt down, and neatly caught hold of a trembling vine. "Let's go see what the little people want."
Author's Note: HERE COMES THE THUNDER!