Act Two Chapter 10: In the Place where one Walks with Death I

Next update has arrived. Still need a beta.

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He stroked the coarse hair from her face as she scrunched it in pain. Selphie's hair felt odd, as it looked so soft from a distance, but on contact it moved like a thorned vine. Behind, the tent flap opened, his familiar working into the room, but not bothering him in his time of solace.

She had been like this increasingly often, falling into deeper and longer sleeps. It had something to do with straying from the wood. The further from her source of strength, the more the world drained on her. As being a member of the fey, despite mortal in form and sense, the correct side of the world drained on her, only in places where the reversed side was close did her power sustain her.

Places like that were mostly places where dense magic followed.

Another caveat grafted itself to her. She attuned to the things of summer nature. Tree's, natural standing waters, and chilled rivers were substantial sources of power. Things that bloomed with life and birth sustained her.

The dragon perverted the waters that flew.

The range, devoid of these growths, drained her further with his sick power flooding the region. Even as he slept, his aura corrupted the world with death and decay. Thus, she rested, more and more, conserving herself for the return trip.

Harry understood now why Selphie was the only magic user among the traveling elves. They needed the nature as warriors but were not as close to it as his bonded.

"Harry, we are heading out," Nic said from just outside the flap. After a beat, he passed the threshold.

Harry took his gaze from her pointed face and turned it to his guardian. "So soon?"

"Yes, we need to make the pass while the sun still lights the way, we don't need a creature of the night before we enter the cave," he packed a few final items into his satchel that never seemed to end, "be good while I am gone. Ok, Harry?"

A sudden rush of emotion pulled on him as his stomach fell. "Do you need to go Nic?"

"It is my trip, my responsibility. It is ok, Harry; I will be back. No need to cry." Harry reached up his hand and felt the wetness.

"Nic…" he searched for the words, but none came. What could be said to describe the turmoil and dread that filled his spirit.

"I will be fine, Harry. I promise." The nearest thing to a father figure he had approached him with slow and precise steps. He squatted to Harry's level, a half sit on the floor, and pulled him into a tight hug.

It was unpracticed, firm, and strange, yet it reassured him. Despite the ridged set, the feelings it wished to portray came through like the sun through the clouds illuminating everything. The man was worried, but he would do this.

"I will see you soon," the man said, standing tall.

"I know you will. Thank you Nic, for everything."

In the Place where one Walks with Death.

They had left; the camp had been all but deserted. Stragglers, injured, and special personnel remained as the group proper walked into the distance. Cepheus had glanced at Harry that promised future words, where Bill and Charlie had left without any.

Florian was his longest goodbye, other than Nic. The man had ruffled his hair and said he would see him soon with a kind smile.

Sadness still was there in his eyes for his fallen brother.

He stayed there, the last watcher of the party. The sun climbed ever higher. How long did he stay? What now did he do?

Then it happened.

A giant black bird fell dead at his feet.

Even without studying ornithomancy, this could not be a good sign.

He sprinted through the noiseless encampment into his tent where Selphie still lay sleeping. He ripped open his chest and dug through it, forgoing thinking of Apollo at that moment. Grasping the cards which joyously leapt into his hands he shuffled with one hand as he cleared the table with his forearm in a single stroke.

He asked for a different deity, one he found in a strange story in the Flamel library.

One of three sisters born of an island, she was a goddess, both related to prophecy and the celts. Her name was Brigantia.

One in the center, and a second over it. Left, right, up, down. Four to the side, ascending.

A Celtic Cross was born before him, as he panted from the extension, not only from running, but this card trick pulled more from him than nearly any esoteric form of magic he tried before, except the binding ritual.

The first card described the present. The card displayed people praying to an angel above, blowing a trumpet to herald the end, XX, Judgment. As his present, it described itself as the finale. Over the top lay the challenge, which bore itself another Major Arcana. A reversed pentagram over the goat headed man, flanked by chained demons of opposing gender, XV stared at him. The challenge was lusting, but the cost would be high if falling for the temptation.

He moved to the past. A familiar Five of Cups sat there, showing the despair the journey had been. Next was the Future, something not pleasant. The Future was The Tower, crumbling in the folly.

Above sat the best outcome. It was a portrait of a mourning woman as nine swords decorate the wall behind her and the deceased one. The best outcome ended in death and disappointment in the eyes of the cross.

Below was the least direct describer, one which called for the underlying or could bring out information needed later. Harry had the below of the Ten of Wands, a heavy workload with too much to bear.

On his right the bottom card was a man charging on horseback, sword drawn. This would be his advice, and the best way to approach his challenge. He was the Knight of Swords, charge forward post haste.

Next are things beyond his influence.

He was a man bearing a crown, a scale, and a sword pointed high. XI, Justice, a man looking forward unblind to his waited opinion. The Law, which may not be fair, was something beyond his control.

The ninth card described his hopes or fears. What he feared was obvious. A man lay facedown with ten swords sticking from his dead back. Total and complete defeat.

Finally, was the outcome, where the situation will most probably go. Five men did battle with sticks, as the future was the Five of Wands. A battle, competition, gain, but also potential loss.

To read, start in and work out. His present was the climax, and The Devil stayed over it. His time read as a sad journey, to judgment, to total failure. Loss to higher forms of failure. Opposite that was how he saw the event preceding. Internally to externally from below to above, he went from believing that the journey was not worth the work to the confrontation of Judgment and The Devil, to finally thinking that despair is all that exists for him in the future.

His hopeful future and the outcome both had loss, but the future that the cards held was brighter than his own. The advice card telling him to charge ahead. Maybe his presence would change from the despair and death and hopefully even The Tower. Even the final was better than the immediate future of destruction.

Action, but for what?

His challenge was The Devil. What did that mean?

Chains.

Lack of Freedom?

Evil?

Chains.

Trapped?

Restrained?

Trapped.

Trap.

He thought back to a television program Vernon watched once. It portrayed to psychology, something the man cared not for, but his boss's wife was a practitioner.

"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

Trap, they were walking into a trap.

"Alastair, we are going." Harry left his cards sprawled out before him and quickly strapped on his wand and sword.

"What?" the imp said with a tired sound.

"We are going." He grabbed a lantern and stopped at the tent's opening. "I will be back Selphie, I promise."

He started his run.

In the Place where one Walks with Death.

Following the trail, the group left behind was simple, as there was seemingly only one path to follow, and fresh prints of a march guided it. Alastair gripped his shoulder as he ran down the labourist path. When he reached the cave's entrance, Harry had to sit as his breath caught up with him.

"Give it a light, Alastair," Harry said to the toad.

"Yes, yes," and he did.

They started to the cave, but once passed the entrance, the light snuffed itself. "This is no time for jokes Alastair."

"Hm?"

"Relight the lantern already."

"It is already lit, Harry."

"This is no time for jokes."

"Harry, I swear the lantern is glowing right now."

"Strange." He moved back from the blanket of darkness and into the world of light. Behind him the sun was setting. Indeed, the lantern still glowed its soft orange flame.

"You could see in their Alastair?"

"Yes?"

"You can see at night as well, correct?"

"Even in a black room I can see as clearly as now."

"But I could not see the light that came out."

"Yes Harry, we have…" the devil started in a sarcastic tone.

"Shut up. I am thinking." Light cannot be seen, but still exists. He entered and tried the Lumos spell, griping a stone that Nic had made. No light came. He tried to use Insideo instead to light the room, but that failed as well.

"Light emits but cannot be seen… why can it not be seen, damnit." He kicked a rock from his feet. Which collided with sparks against to wall.

Sparks which Harry saw.

"Light emits, but cannot be seen. Light emits but can be seen. What is the difference?" He waited and waited, "I got it." Again, outside he drew, "Greek for instruction, but Egyptian for idea," he drifted his hand through the loose dirt at his feet, leaving trails of red from the workage of his finger. Putting in the lantern, he finished the circle, which glowed with the same color as the moon overhead. After a moment, the light faded, leaving only the lantern behind. He smiled, "done."

"Harry, nothing changed."

"You are wrong Alastair." He grabbed the lantern and walked into the cave, the orange flame dancing along the walls.

"How?" His friend asked in wonder.

"I changed the lantern's purpose. It used to be a light source, but now it is used to hold a flame," Harry spoke with a smile.

"Clever," his familiar said, "brilliant indeed."

In the Place where one Walks with Death.

He pattered against the floor, marred by numerous feet marks. The stream droned constantly in his left ear as its violent rushing colored the entire walkway. In the same direction as the waters, the cave opened more and more with every step. Despite twist and turns, the cave was growing, till the point where his light failed to meet the other side. A soft whistle accompanied him on his walk, almost too quiet to make out. The walls of his right side had pockets of tunnels high above, places his team did not go.

The lantern cast a long shadow behind as the barren wall to his right proved his only path forward. Soon enough he made out shapes ahead, moving with quick movements despite being surrounded by darkness. He watched as many arms moved to their sides, hopefully to draw a wand. They would need them soon. He took off in a run.

"Harry?" a familiar voice called to him.

"Nic," Harry moved to the elder, "It is a trap. The dragon, it knows we are coming," he spoke between heavy inhales.

"How could it know, Harry? Why are you even here?"

"Nic, we need to leave. I promise that."

"Harry, we can't go. Not just yet. It has no way to see beyond its cave. It can not know we are here."

"It knows." He tried again to make the man see reason.

Nic was about to retort when the cavern inhaled, pulling air past them in a mighty gale. "Very good, manling," a voice resonated in his mind, worming and scraping his inner ear with a jovial tone, "but your warning comes too late."

Harry dropped the lantern as his hands clamped onto his ears. The voice of the dragon scratched inside with painful swipes, as if ripping him to shreds, but the cover did nothing to keep the dragon out, its authority overriding his own.

Something gripped his arm hard and nearly pulled from its socket, but he did not see who it was. He failed to see anything through his eyelids closed in agony. The floor tossed below him, the only sign he still stood on solid ground and not in the maw of the evil one.

"You are a special one. I wish to see into your mind more manling," the deep and silvery voice of the monster drove further into Harry's thoughts, melding with them in a strange emission.

"Get out," Harry moaned through a raw throat, his magic flaring.

"Run, run little mice. Welcome to my labyrinth. The only escape for you now is death. I will enjoy watching you suffer," it sounded from the shallower part of his head again, the pain lessoning immensely, "but the one who defied fate, you will live. Forever alone in my home, slave to the thing you sought to undo." The voice tried to crawl further, but failed to do so through the sea of new thoughts, none of which belonged to him.

"Do entertain me manlings, I do so need entertainment."

Then Harry passed out.

In the Place where one Walks with Death

The ceiling spit at him. Small debris sprinkled on his face as the floor below writhed. The tunnel air burned against his flesh as his first waking breath caused a coughing fit.

"Harry, Harry, are you alright?" Bill's voice came from ahead, though darkness masked him. He tried to speak, but more coughing came out. "Here, drink this," something cold pressed against his hand, which harry brought to his lips with trembling hands. It was cool water, and it soothed on the way down, quenching the thirst he didn't know he possessed. "The others should be back shortly," Bill continued to explain.

"Who do we have?" Harry asked into the blackness.

"We think most people escaped," he started with practiced words, "but we got separated. Our group is Mr. Flamel, Charlie, Administrator Catcharm, you and me."

"Is Cepheus alright?"

"Last I saw of him he took off with the priest."

Conversation like this strained. Without a way to see a face, half of the meaning disappears. From tone of voice alone, Harry could make many additional points. The slight waver when discussing Cepheus made Harry aware of the worry Bill carried. But what of his face? What did his eyes show? Did his cheeks pull taught to present a facade of serenity when behind his mask only doubt stayed? A conversation without these things was meaningless as words on a page.

"Is the boy alright," a bladed voice joined them. Disgusting. Thieves. He called you boy. Kill him where he stands.

"Yes sir, he is."

"Good." Harry could smell the creature's perverse smile. Now that he knew of its presence, the small footfalls were easy to make out in the echoing hall. "Thank you for the warning manling." He used the monsters' word for you. Slice his head from his shoulders. End the miserable failure of the fey.

"Are you awake, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Fucking racist,"

His blade flashed and positioned to hit the creature, stopping shy of the clean killing it would provide.

"So, you do possess one of our blades, thief." The soft glow of his sword lit up the yellowed face of the thing, showing the cracked smile.

"I can return it to you, sadly it would be a quick transaction."

"Harry, Administrator, what is going on?" Bill's voice cut in, "What are you two talking about?" Could he not see. He had been in the dark longer than Harry, yet had not grown accustomed to it enough to see from the light of the blade?

"Negotiations," the bastardized fey spoke, his smile turning ever upward.

"Cleaning up failed experiments," Harry answered.

"You piece of shit," the things razored fangs opened more.

"Harry, you are awake," a voice yelled from the hall, tragically happy.

From behind the boyish man, a stern voice called out, "Away. And stop it."

"Awe sorry, Nicolas," Charlie again spoke, but the message was not for him. The blade disappeared, and the goblin took a few steps back. Harry was sure to glance at the floor before the soft light died, for it would be unfortunate if he was too…

"Damn, who put that rope there?" and Charlie did trip.

"Update?" Bill said. Ignoring the fall of his brother.

"Nothing on our end." Nic responded, moving to Harry and the Goblin, positioning himself between them.

"Same over here." Bill returned the favor.

"We need to get out. We can worry about the others when we are safe," his voice ran higher than normal. His breathing was heavy, and it seemed it was not because of the high physical workload.

"Charlie," Bill admonished the boy. "Where is your Gryffindor spirit?"

"Even the lion bows to the sleeping dragon. What happens when it wakes?" Harry offered.

"Harry," Charlie began, "quit saying creepy shit in the dark."

"I agree with Bill," the fey added, "what we should do is hunt the beast. Show it to fear us." As it spoke, Harry reached out to Nic, who stood firm for him. His hands wrapped around his guardian, standing together in the dark.

"If you really wished that, why did you not solve their problem immediately? Were you hoping that culled men meant more spoils?" He gripped Nic's hand tighter.

"What do you mean?" The graveled voice ran quiet.

"I figured out the enchantment in under a half hour. You are telling me a goblin who specializes in such things couldn't do that."

"You listen here, boy," the razor fang jetted back with equal hatred.

"No wonder they kicked out you. Either you are stupid or inept. I really wonder which is worse."

"You will die boy."

"Will he?" The voice, though soft, thrummed through the empty halls. "Cease the bickering and make us a light Administrator."

"Yes, master." The beast spoke with bleeding sarcasm as he gave a false bow and went to work on a rock.

"What will we do?" Charlie asked again.

"Kill it." Was the only thing Harry could say in response.

In the Place where one Walks with Death

As Nic and Bill had worked out, going deeper and shallower in the cave system was rather easy. One only needed to follow the heat. The dragon's lair would be where the heated monster spent most of its time sleeping and bleeding its authority over the surroundings, an authority which traveled with heat.

Sweat peered down Harry's face as Alister stood silent watch on his shoulder, gripping the enchanted rock from its mouth. The goblin had functioned them a glowing set of lights in less time than Harry had changed the role of his lantern and passed them among the group. Charlie looked at it with awe, Nic with indifference, and Bill with overwhelming betrayal.

Bill made the mistake of believing them to be human like because of the appearance they held. He had not yet learned of the greedy monsters they were. They worked and laughed and drank, but in the end these were all acts. They lured people in, and in the end took all they could.

A dragon was forward with the hording and evil.

Goblins pretended otherwise.

The two monsters were so similar, with the number one similarity being the subject of their downfall every time.

Overwhelming pride.

The goblin administrator that walked shadowing him must have known subconsciously even if he did not voice it. Nic most likely knew prior, and Bill had understood as well.

The caves they walked were of goblin make, every corner and height and system pointed to it. The pointed features of the architecture showed heavy on every inch of walk.

But the walls were crying. The sharp notches that normally marked were scorched black and dripped down rivers from the sky. The horrifying implications whispered into Harry's mind.

"If it wished, it could kill everyone at once."

"What was that, Harry?" Charlie asked from ahead.

"Do you understand now? The pointlessness of your journey." It scratched in his mind.

"Harry your nose." A redhead spoke.

"I will kill you."

"Pointless."

"We need to run," Harry took Bill and Charlie by the collar and to a cooler path while rushing magic through his limbs. Behind him, the goblin smashed its small hand into the wall and pulled, bringing a partial collapse. Nic whispered and tossed two stones forth over the boy and his two passengers.

"What the heck, Harry?" Bill started as the Goblin grabbed the redhead's leg. Harry took Nic onto his shoulder as he pushed faster than before, carrying the massive load with him as the blast of red smashed into the temporary barrier the eldest of the group crafted. After running down a branching hallway, he dropped his load as the fire petered into the small hallway, not quite making it to them. He wheezed as he slumped.

"Keeping us honest," Harry spoke through baited breaths.

"Of course, it's no fun otherwise."

"Harry?" Nic began.

"If I can barely hold him at bay, do you think either of them can?"

"They are older." He countered.

"What the hell are you two saying." Charlie yelled at them.

"Charlie." The brother said like a parent to his child. Of everyone, Bill appeared the most pained by the blasted fire.

"No Bill. I am tired of this. What the hell are you. You are not a first year, everything about you rubs me the wrong way. Are you actually he-who-must-not-be-named? How are you so powerful? Why do you know all these things? Just…"

"Stop." Harry spoke, looking the younger sibling in the eye. The child before him listened. "He can read everyone's mind. I can keep him out somewhat, as can the waste of air and Nic. Can we say the same for either of you?"

"What?" Bill said with a slight shudder, fear written all over his face.

"That is a no?" Silence met the question. "We will talk once we have killed the thing. Until then, just don't die." He gave a lopsided grin.

Then he felt it. The air changed.

"Boy."

"Shit."

It was coming.

The wall collapsed.

Harry drew his glowing sword as the maw opened taller than even Charlie stood. His magic pumped from his hands into the peerless blade, making its glow even greater. Alastair added words that none understood, which he obediently copied. As his sword's light grew, its opposing force began. A stream of lava burst onto the barrier crafted from goblin forged weaponry.

The blade greedily sucked up the flames as they came, but it could not devour the endless heat. Behind him, people screamed, something Harry was sure he too copied. The heat burned into his arms the most. His hand seared as the surrounding walls melted for the second time.

He held for what felt like hours against the constant stream; the sword glowing white hot in his hands. The endless river of flames had destroyed the leather grip as he grasped exposed metal. His sleeves had burst into flames and his skin burned, dripping ceiling seared into his shoulder as he held.

One voice behind him had stopped screaming as he held more. He heard running, good perhaps Nic got away.

His sword cracked as a long black ruin carved a majority of its length.

He would hold here. Standing tall and proud as their protector.

"Sorry, Selphie." He whispered with a smile.

Fool, his maliciousness spoke to him.

Then it stopped.

With roaring thunder, the dragon's head was wretched back. With a white inferno, an explosion of epic proportion burst within its wide jaws, knocking teeth out into the massive bed of water below. It shrieked in pain as small claws grabbed Harry's back.

The goblin dragged him down the hallway as Harry battled to stay awake.

"My sword," he tried to say. He needed it back. Harry looked out, but it did not lay on the ground. He reached out only to find it in his hand, or what should have been his hand. The sword was there, clenched inside a mess of melted flesh that looked more like thigh with white bits sticking out than a hand.

As it dragged Harry away, he watched the beast.

"You haven't won." It screamed.

As Harry formed his response, he stopped.

They just passed what used to be the body of Bill, posed like he was praying.

"Bill?"

"Boy."

Bile spilled onto his front.