Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
first released 4th February 2022
/35,000 light years away from Earth/
/On a ship escaping the fifth planet from a sun known as Akiridion/
What had begun as a day of glory and celebration ended, instead, as a day of treachery and tragedy. Alone, for now, Aja stood between her parents' regeneration chambers, one hand resting on each.
She sniffed, and tried to wipe the sentiment away.
General Morando had done this. Logically, it was his fault, and his fault alone. But logic had no place in matters of the core, and it was in her core that she knew she was to blame.
If she hadn't run away. If she had been at the ceremony. If she had only done her duty, fitting herself into the role of a proper royal, a hexagonal peg in a cubic hole...
Alone, Aja wept and mourned and raged bitterly against her own ill-suited nature.
Zoe half-heartedly packed up from band practice, listening to Gil and Marti laugh at each other and hassle Douxie, who gave as good as he got while stowing his beloved Fender in its case.
She didn't get to do that anymore. Gil and Marti knew she and Douxie had had a falling out, but given they weren't wizards, she certainly hadn't told them exactly why, and it seemed like Douxie, despite his hare-brained schemes and fuckups of colossal immensity, hadn't bothered them with the details either. But the distance between them now meant that she didn't get to give him shit like that anymore. Not unless she wanted to sabotage what was left of their friendship.
And Douxie was very carefully and very obviously not making Gil and Marti pick sides. Which she appreciated. If their roles had been switched, she wasn't sure she would be able to say the same. And three members of a band against one? Whoever was on the losing side would be replaced pretty quick.
And, shit, if he took his songs with him... we'd be screwed. Half of Ash Dispersal Pattern's songs were Douxie's work. He was always scribbling something in a notebook, working a line or a lyric in his head until he turned it into something golden. At least half their groupies (few of them as there were) were his starry-eyed devotees.
Good luck to them, Zoe thought, with only a little bit of acid. It still stung a bit that he'd as much as turned her down. And she didn't know why he had. They were good friends, they had good chemistry (she'd thought), and they made good music together. Now that they had been living in the same town for a few years, she'd thought as a couple they would have been fantastic.
But it was his loss, she decided, tossing her head as he shrugged the guitar case on over one shoulder and headed out.
She could call after him, apologize... but she didn't.
She couldn't risk it.
Whatever he was doing, it had too much potential to bring the sky down on their heads. And as a wizard, she'd long learned how to prioritize her own safety over something as ephemeral as friendship.
Jim, as far as he knew, did not have an artistic bone in his body. Or, if he did, it was reserved strictly for the culinary arts. Painting, like his mother, or music, like Douxie, was as utterly beyond him as the moon was for a fish. Even acting wasn't his natural forte - he'd gotten into it the first time by accident, and stuck with it because he'd really, really liked Claire and wanted to impress her, maybe have a chance with her. The stage certainly wasn't his dream the way it was hers.
Now, though, he stood in his mother's makeshift art studio in the basement and considered her paintings. She'd been lackluster about it most of his life, but suddenly, both the first time around and now, she'd gotten back into it with a vengeance. And it had been that hobby which had led to the breakthrough of her getting her memories back the first time, so he had to admit he was a little curious how her work stacked up now versus then.
He'd asked, and been granted permission, to look at her work. It wasn't like he was sneaking a peek into someone's diary.
Not really.
Much.
Because he was pretty sure that his mom hadn't realized how much of her feelings she put into her paintings, and the ones of Strickler were... um. A little uncomfortable for Jim to look at.
He was pretty sure his history teacher wasn't a pinup.
In either form.
At least his mom had tastefully blurred things below the waist.
"Right," Jim said, cheeks burning, and put the dropcloth back over that stack of paintings before moving onto the next. There, at least, he was on safer ground: paintings of himself and Toby in armor. They were actually pretty good, and the detail, as far as Jim could tell, was accurate. He made a mental note to ask his mom if he could have the one of him and his best friend stood back to back. And maybe Nana Domzalski might like the one of Toby all on his own, because it was a really good portrait.
But where he tripped up was the painting of Killahead Bridge being opened. The bridge itself was fairly accurately depicted, and the burning red behind it eerily ominous. The blue-light blur to one side had to be Douxie, and the purple one on the other side Claire. He could pick himself and Toby out in the twin armored figures, and there was Blinky and Aaarrrgghh. Strickler was in the sky.
But how did his mom know what Nomura's troll form looked like? Or that she had twin blades?
Let alone Gunmar's distinctive horned shape, black and ominous against the red as he led his army out from under the bridge.
Jim stared at that one for a long time, trying to make sense of things.
His hand crept into his pocket and pulled the amulet out. It was warm in his cold hand. He turned it over to look at the backside. Inside, under the smooth silver surface, were the three gemstones that gave him access to his troll forms. And nestled between them lay the Time Stone.
"What do you know?" he asked it. "What can you do?" Because they'd tried and tested it - no one could remember that other future except for the Ninth Configuration. Heck, even Archie couldn't, and he and Douxie were soul-linked or something.
Feeling cold, Jim looked back at his mother's painting, and wondered.
"Jim!" Blinky came into his son's basement via the tunnel door, and beamed at the boy, who stood looking at his mother's paintings, amulet in hand. "I've found the missing stone, isn't that wonderful?"
Jim blinked, turning to look at him. "Uh, great, Blinky," he said. He shook his head, like he was having a problem shifting mental gears. "No, really, that's great!" he said with more enthusiasm, coming closer. "Where was it?"
"Still in the library trunk, would you believe it?" Blinky asked, smiling broadly. "Aaarrrgghh brilliantly suggested I retrace my steps and figure out where I'd last seen it."
Jim smiled back. "For a guy who doesn't talk much, he is pretty smart," he agreed, tucking away his amulet and taking the stone from Blinky.
"You must forgive me, I was so delighted at finding it again, I felt I must run right over here and give it to you," Blinky said, handing the rock over. "I did not mean to interrupt your artistic introspection."
"No, it's okay," Jim said. "Actually... can you look at something with me? I want a second opinion."
"Of course, my dear boy!" Blinky followed Jim across the basement, to one of the many canvases that lay against the wall. "Ah. A most remarkable painting," he declared. "Your mother's brushwork is exquisite."
Jim looked taken aback. "You know about painting techniques?"
"I know about many things, Jim," Blinky told him, laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "Also, we trolls have been known to occasionally sneak into a human museum at night and peruse mankind's artistic offerings."
Jim's expression was half aghast, half delighted. "You do breaking and entering?" he demanded. "Man, that would've been handy when we were sneaking into the museum!"
"You should have waited for Aaarrrgghh and myself," Blinky told him. "Still, you thought someone was in danger. Rushing in as you did was a noble deed, and gained us valuable information on our enemies."
"Yeah, and a police record!" Jim was indignant.
"Which has now been expunged," Blinky pointed out. "Still, what is it about this painting that interests you, Jim? I assume from your words you are not in fact seeking a critique of your mother's technique."
"No, it's... how does she know what Gunmar looks like?" Jim asked, pointing that dark figure out. "Or Nomura?" His finger moved to indicate the magenta shape near the painting's bottom.
Blinky blinked. There was indeed no way that Barbara should have known the shape of either of those figures; while, by her own admission, she knew Nomura in this timeline, she would never yet have seen her troll form. And she certainly had never encountered Gunmar! "My word," Blinky murmured. "You are quite correct, Master Jim."
"I mean, in the other timeline, she remembered everything she forgot because of her paintings," Jim said, the hand not holding the Killahead stone going into his hair. He then waved at the piece of art. "But this? She can't be remembering things that haven't even happened yet, Blink!"
"Hmm." Blinky tapped at his lips in thought. "I suspect the most direct method of approach would serve us well here." At Jim's blank look, he expounded, "ask her, Jim. And perhaps have Hisirdoux look her over with his magic, find if there is anything out of order which might cause her to be remembering things she cannot possibly know."
Jim sighed. It was clear it wasn't the answer he wanted. Or was, at least, one which would require more time and patience than he had wanted. But nonetheless, he said, "Yeah, you're right." A deep inhale. "I'll go do that. Actually, she's on a date with Strickler right now." He gave a small grin.
"I take it you mean to combine these two tasks, then?"
"Oh yeah." Jim's grin widened. "Oh, hey, Blink, take a look at these." He moved to another stack of paintings and whisked the covering cloth off.
Blinky stared. And then looked hastily away, pressing four hands to six eyes, trying to cover them all. "Oh, my eyes!" he cried, wishing he could erase the erotic paintings of their changeling ally from his mind.
"Yeah, that's pretty much how I felt," Jim agreed. Blinky could hear the cloth being set back down, so he risked a glance back. "It's even worse, because I have to deal with the fact that it's my mom painting him like that."
Blinky thought about that for a second, then patted Jim on his shoulder. "My son," he said, "you have my deepest sympathies."
An early-dinner date was the best she was going to be able to do with Walt this week. Sometimes Barbara really hated her erratic schedule at the hospital; she had to miss out on so much.
On the other hand, she would greedily take the moments she was given, and be grateful for the steady income that let her build a secure home for her family. Things could be a lot worse.
"Ah, our favorite waiter," Walt said as Douxie walked up to them, check pad already in hand.
"Good evening, Mister Strickler," he replied, smiling. "Barbara." His pen appeared in his hand as if by magic, with a fancy twirl. He was made of pure showmanship, even muted and constrained as it had to be by the role of a waiter. "Can I get you drinks or a starter, or do you already know what you'd like?"
"I think we're ready to order?" she asked rhetorically. Walt's eyes flicked down to his menu then back up to her. He nodded as he folded the menu up.
"Excellent. So, what shall I get for you tonight?"
She chose the steamed mussels with coconut milk and Thai chilies; Walt, the peppered chicken. But no wine for her today, as she needed to go on-shift after dinner.
"Good choices," Douxie said with a nod. "I'll be back out with your drinks and some bread in just a moment."
Walt's gaze followed her son as he walked away. "Balancing the line between professional and personal relations," he murmured. "Always tricky."
"Worth the work, though, don't you think?" she asked.
His hand reached across the table to capture hers. "Always," he murmured.
And she didn't blush. She didn't, curse the man's charm!
And if she was still blushing when Douxie returned, he didn't note it except for the twinkle in his eyes as he set fresh, crusty bread between them, along with a shallow dish and a tray of accompaniments - olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and a pepper mill. Tea for her, and chardonnay for Walt. "I'll leave you two alone, shall I?" Douxie murmured, a smile on his lips, and she simultaneously both loved and wanted to murder her older son.
Which, of course, was when Jim arrived on his Vespa, parking just down the street from the cafe.
At least he was wearing his helmet.
Douxie straightened from his gentle needling of the happy couple. "Jim?" Beside him, Barbara dropped her head into a hand with a sigh of exasperation. He couldn't quite blame her; having both of her sons appear during her date probably wasn't what she'd had in mind.
Jim set his helmet on the moped's seat and came over to them, his messenger bag still slung cross-bodied. "Hey, sorry to interrupt," he said (it was not clear to whom in particular he was addressing the remark), "but something kind of came up and I didn't know when we'd all be together like this."
Douxie had stiffened; Strickler, he saw had done the same. "'Came up'?" the changeling asked.
"Well, two things," Jim admitted. "The first one's this." He opened his bag and rummaged around in it, pulling out a leather-wrapped... stone.
Oh, Douxie realized at about the same time Strickler did, given the widening of his eyes as he took the rock from Jim.
"Yeah, Blinky just remembered where he put that," Jim confirmed.
"Well." Strickler stared at the stone where it rested on the table. "I... suppose I know what I am doing tonight."
"Oh?" Barbara asked.
He gave her a strained smile. "With this, I should be able to contact Gunmar directly, and... start moving him toward his attack."
"Oh." Her frown at the rock was all she needed to say.
"I daresay he will not be pleased with me; the goblins have doubtlessly reported his son's demise. Nevertheless, things must move forward."
"Unfortunately," agreed Douxie.
"The other thing is... Mom, I was looking at some of your paintings," Jim said. His expression was now stormier, troubled. "Specifically, the one about Killahead."
Barbara looked confused. "What about it?"
"How do you know what Gunmar and-" Jim looked around, lowered his voice, "Nomura's troll form look like? You've never seen them, Mom."
She blinked.
"In the first timeline, you remembered some things you should have permanently forgotten, because you started painting them," Jim explained. "And, it's definitely not a bad thing if that's happening this time around too, but... it's just weird."
She blinked, clearly surprised, and looked at Strickler.
"That shouldn't be possible," Douxie said. "Not even Arch remembers, and he and I are soul-linked."
"You showed me them, Douxie," Barbara said. "When we were talking with Claire's parents, remember? You made that illusion."
"Ah." Douxie's eyes widened, remembering. "That's true. I did conjure Gunmar, to show them what we were up against."
"And Nomura?" asked Jim.
Douxie considered the question. Shook his head. "That I can't remember doing," he said. "I might have done it at some point, but..."
"Oh, I remember!" Barbara snapped her fingers. "That night at the museum! I saw her then."
"Ohhh. Okay." Jim relaxed. Or deflated. It was hard to tell which.
Douxie patted him on the shoulder. "Not everything needs to have a magical explanation, you know."
"Yeah. I think I'm kind of glad this doesn't," said Jim.
"Me too," their mother agreed. "But now that we've figured that out?" She made little shoo-ing motions at her son. "I'm on a date, kiddo, and you're not invited."
Jim laughed as Douxie turned to go check on his other tables and see if he had any orders up yet. "One question before I go, Mom... does Mister Strickler know about those pinup paintings you've done?"
Douxie nearly tripped.
There was silence at the table behind him, then rich amusement in Strickler's voice as he asked "Pinups, my dear?"
Inside the restaurant, it turned out that both Barbara and Strickler's meals were already done, so Douxie brought them out a few moments later. Jim was already gone, he noted as he served the both of them. Still, Douxie couldn't resist a low comment of "I promise I shan't say anything further on the matter, but I do feel there's a remark to be made, Barbara, about you painting Strickler like one of your French girls."
Grinning, he retreated from the table as both of their laughters followed him.
There was a long list of things Waltolomew Stricklander would rather not be doing, and this one was high on the list. Perhaps the highest, in fact. But nonetheless, here he was, in the museum, in the dark, carrying the last stone of Killahead.
Behind him, Nomura snorted. "Having an attack of cowardice?"
"You will not be the one bearing the brunt of his ire," Waltolomew reminded her.
"I'm here anyway," she told him.
And she was, he realized. The only other one of his kind he was willing to have at his back for this. It was... oddly comforting. "Well," he said, and drew a breath. "Here we go."
He set the stone in place, and backed away.
There was a long moment where nothing happened, punctuated only by Nomura's impatient "Well?"
Then blue light began to crawl across the engravings and cracks of the bridge. Lines of pure power connected in its arch, looking rather like the filaments of a plasma ball. And as they connected, they grew, until a critical mass was reached, and-
Light and hot wind and the damp, fetid air of the Darklands blasted forth, accompanying the enraged roar of the fell lord, whose shadow could be seen, lurking in the glowing mists of the in-between.
Driven by instinct, Waltolomew knelt.
"Where is my son, Stricklander?" Gunmar snarled, his voice an echo in Waltolomew's bones.
"Slain, my lord," he answered, barely daring to raise his head, but schooling his expression into a semblance of contrition and sorrow. "The new Trollhunter has proven himself to be a wily and dangerous foe."
"And what have you done to avenge him?" wrath itself demanded.
"I have entrenched our forces and rebuilt Killahead, my lord," he replied. "We need but the Trollhunter's amulet and you shall be free to return - and take your own vengeance. I could not seek to deprive you of the pleasure of destroying your son's murderer."
"Coward," Gunmar snarled. "When I am free, you will be lucky not to die by my blade, Stricklander."
Nomura stalked forward. "The Trollhunter took Bular's head," she said with her own snarl. "Bular, the mightiest of us! We seek your guidance, and your orders, my lord."
His head bowed, Waltolomew grinned unseen. Clever Nomura, to redirect things.
A silence, broken only by Gunmar's sustained growl. "I will take the Trollhunter's life myself," he finally grated. "I will prepare my troops. You, get the amulet."
"Yes, my lord," Waltolomew and Nomura chorused.
And then the connection cut off, the space under the bridge going dark and empty once more.
"Well," Waltolomew said, standing and dusting off the knees of his trousers, "I think that went rather well, don't you?"
Nomura stepped up beside him. "You'd better be right about this, Stricklander," she growled. "If this goes wrong, we're all fucked."
"I think you mean dead," he told her. He sighed. "And you are right. Still, this is the course which is set before us. And can you imagine what it might be like to live in a world free of Gunmar's weight?"
"My imagination's not that good," she snarled, and turned to go.
"Nomura," he called after her. She paused, not turning back. "You're a poor liar." She sniffed. "And, also... what a lovely hair ornament."
Her hand raised almost instinctively to touch the golden half-circle decorating her hair. Then she stormed away.
Left behind, Waltolomew smiled.
The planet named after dirt was indeed in one of the most backwater arms of the galaxy. Krel watched the main screen as the mothership skillfully wove between planets and asteroids, approaching a cute little G-type main-sequence star. Their destination was apparently one of the more minuscule planets orbiting it, the third rock from the sun, and by far the least interesting of the objects in the system. Krel would have vastly preferred to explore the ice giants on the outskirts of the system, or the gas giants next to them. The rings orbiting one of those were fascinating, and quite aesthetically pleasing! Still, the dirt-planet was the only one inhabited, albeit by a primitive species, and would serve best as a place to hide out while they figured out what to do.
Sighing, he turned away from the main viewscreen, bringing up a kinetic touch screen instead, preparing to review what information the mothership had on the world.
"Huh." There was... very little available, it seemed. On one hand, that was dispiriting. On the other, it meant the planet was of such little consequence that no one had bothered to explore it, which spoke well for their odds of success hiding here.
Krel turned back to the main screen as the planet itself came into view. It looked like a blue marble, swirled, as they came closer, with white. The information in the ship's systems had indicated that the surface of the planet, despite it being named for dirt, primarily consisted of water; the white was, therefore, presumably water in its gaseous form.
It did not glow like Akiridion-5, but somehow, against the depths of space, the world gleamed.
And for just an instant, Krel thought it looked like hope.
Author's Notes: I wanted Zoe to make up with Douxie and help him weave mesh armor... but when I gave her the viewpoint, she balked and would not do it. (sigh) Douxie teasing Barbara about painting Strickler "like one of your French girls" is a reference to the movie Titanic. Krel referring to Earth as the "third rock from the sun" is a reference to the sitcom of the same name (also about extraterrestrials trying to fit in on Earth!). And his calling Earth a blue marble is a reference to a rather famous photograph of our planet.
And, sadly, with this chapter, I have to announce another hiatus. You're caught up with what I've written, and I need to write more chapters before I can post them! I will aim for the first of March, but if I can write enough before then, possibly I'll resume sooner. I also have a few other unrelated Tales of Arcadia works which I may put up if my beta reader (Wonderful Husband) can be persuaded to take a look at them. In the meantime, thank you all very much for reading and enjoying this story, and I hope I'll be back soon, with Aja, Krel, and Varvatos now joining our intrepid heroes.
