The idea was a dumb one.
Most of my ideas started out like that and then eventually I talked myself around to trying it, and my magic would make it work. Somehow.
Incoming.
Morgana's warning was heeded with a quick flick of my wrist bringing my first sword, the gift from Erza, around through the honest to goodness ghost charging at me from down the hall with something between a wail and a shriek. His armor would have been shiny, parade ready with a fur lined cloak and a long spear falling from his hands as he disappeared into thin air.
How many more are there altogether?
27.
Yeah, talk about a smooth going first solo mission. Or as solo as I could get given Morgana's residence in the back of my mind. Kinana couldn't accompany me since this job involved going way up into the mountains where not even warming charms could have maintained her body temperature safely. Wendy was busy running her clinic, Kagura was, last I heard, terrifying gangs of mountain highwaymen into leaving the postal service alone. Rogue was in another guild that avoided mundane simple job requests such as ingredient gathering like the plague and Eric was still in prison and had promised to not try to break out until we saw how his petition for parole was received.
The curse of the C-rank mission isn't supposed to follow meafter I take the headband off!
"Slaughter the infidel witch!"
The furious howl of an ancient, not magically friendly king reverberated through the walls. It was a very effective reminder that my life was presently in jeopardy. No safety net, no back up, and very little clue as to what had actually caused this whole debacle. Not no idea whatsoever. I knew the basics. Every wizard that had to travel to Iceberg did.
King Marcel Shingo, who had ruled about two hundred years ago in the northern country of Iceberg, had been a notorious hater of magic power and anyone who used it. So much so that he employed a platoon of more than five hundred knights who specialized in hunting down anyone who professed even having been affected by magic. This king's many, many times great grandson had disclosed publicly that he had magic at the ceremony where he was crowned. The speech he had prepared about progressing and accepting the use of magic in the kingdom, discarding ancient barbaric ways of torture and cruelty, had been quite touching. And likely the event would have made a very different mark in the history books if it hadn't triggered a massive uprising of his furious ancestor's spirit. Who had then also called on his knights to attack and destroy the 'imposter' pretending to legalize magic in Iceberg. It had been chaos and not of my preferred light hearted variety.
The royal family was hiding in a panic room designed by Marcel's own son. Every servant and member of their household had someplace to go hide and be safe from magical attacks. Which blessedly included ghosts. They had spilled out of the palace in small groups, with only a few patrols leaving the capitol city. Fortunately, not many people encountered them due to an alert having been sounded to warn the average citizen. In about a week, a formal, but desperate missive left the King's hands, addressed to Fiore requesting emergency support from their best wizards to come and handle the situation. They wouldn't run out of food anytime soon, but the travel time alone meant that if they delayed much longer, then they would have to face either starvation or slaughter by the undead.
And guess who had been in Iceberg, not too far away, looking to fulfill a very specialized job request for goat horns from the herds that surrounded the palace. Passing the border had taken three days, a lot of persuasion tactics and trading heavily on Jude's existing working relationship through his import and export business. I wasn't supposed to use any magic at all while in the country. And that was with a notarized seal of trade giving me reason, permission and protection to be entering the country.
I had better get all the hazard pay and benefits if I pull this off. I don't care that I just charged in and could potentially be causing an international incident.
-vVv-
I had not been in the city when this all started. I picked all of this superfluous information up later. I only had permission to visit and talk to the people who were in the business relationship with Jude Heartfilia. The herds that I would be collecting from were in the ice fields outside the capitol city. The cheers and bells from the happy event from within had been audible and they cut out rather abruptly. The goats quickly got restless, but most of them just kept grazing. What truly set off my instincts was the barn cat's behavior. They sat up wherever they had been lounging or roaming, fur rising along their backs, staring towards the city and giving the low warning mutter that signaled an angry and scared feline. All four of them, in eerie unison, staring in the same direction.
"This isn't normal for you, is it?"
I asked my contact for this trip, Faren, who had been exporting the sheddings of his crystalline horned livestock through Jude for many years. He was pale as a sheet as he looked from the cats to the city walls.
"No...it's not." Then a certain rhythm started to pulse through the air. Drum beats that bounced off the mountains at the city's back and echoed up the valley. He listened for a moment, then his eyes bulged with recognition and he gasped. "The castle is being attacked by magic!"
Morgana confirmed that the drum signal had been set up for centuries as a precaution but had not been used in well over 150 years.
The Iceberg people do not use magic in many of their day to day affairs. They rely on drum codes for swift communication of news or orders. Faren grabbed my hand and started pulling me for his shelter, whistling to his dogs to herd the goats together. The cats remained where they were, staring hard and still keening. I had so many questions though.
"Who would attack on Prince Victor's coronation day?"
"Outright attack? Maybe a few of more conservative lords who don't like the recent changes he's made letting wizards even enter the country for trade purposes."
The goats were being brought into their barn and the dogs followed behind them. I did the same at his urging. Morgana registered that there was a tunnel connecting the barn and the farmhouse, used when snow made overland travel hazardous.
"OK, so why are you going into hiding?"
"It's standard response to not give any invaders hostages to bring the royal family out of their safe room."
So I sheltered with Faren and his family for a few days. Their storm cellar and house's layout and materials were meant to disrupt the gathering of ambient ethernano, which made my stay interesting though not uncomfortable. They had plentiful supplies at least and access to water even without leaving their house. There were tunnels leading to their livestock barn, their storage barn and to an underground well that was dug deep enough to avoid most frost. Iceberg's winters were brutal, but their summers could also get surprise blizzards, so they were perpetually stockpiling food and other necessities on top of religiously maintaining their tunnels, just in case. We weren't supposed to go out except for what was absolutely necessary. I helped take care of the goats since they were hosting me, but I was outside when I noticed something was wrong.
The citizens had all withdrawn inside their homes. But there was still something prowling the streets of the city, manning the gates and moving along the roads. And there was an odd aura to the city walls...No living city should be so silent yet still have so much movement.
Morgana. What's going on in there?
Nothing good.
She showed me images of the royal knights and other soldiers dead in the streets. Faces twisted with fear and surprise. I could sense that there was a pattern to the slaughter, but not what it was without more chance to invesitgate up close. There were no wizards at all in the palace. If the problem was magical in nature then...It would likely take a wizard to solve. And I was the closest one. I knew that I owed Faren a lot. And I didn't want him to get in trouble if I got caught. But I just had a really, really bad feeling about leaving things like this.
Then one night, on the new moon actually, I heard hoofbeats thundering down the roads. I sat bolt upright in the cot I was using to crash in.
The Decimation rides tonight.
There was no quesiont that I needed to get a better look. I was practically helpless with how little I knew and with my need to remain aloof from the problem. I slipped out of the main house, through the tunnel to the barn and climbed to the highest window with the best view of the road. The short line of horses marched at a steady, tireless trot. Six altogether. Two bore heavy crossbows were held at the ready alongside sheathed calavry sabers. Two had lances in hand as though they were ready to joust. Or charge and run someone down. The last pair were armed with axes and long bows. As I watched from the upper window of the barn, I could see that the riders were partially merged with their mounts. Animal ghosts were incredibly rare, but these men were so used to life in the saddle that they had manifested these skeletal centaur forms to be able to replay their lives more faithfully. Morgana found several threads of good information in how they organized their march, the subtle rotation so that they remained vigilent. They stuck to the road, but they were actively scanning for signs of life.
It would be best if we were not spotted.
I ducked down out of sight, heart pounding as Morgana connected some dots and the story opened up for me.
The Decimation was the name of the platoon of magic hunting knights that King Marcel had patroned. The more honest history books called them what they were: Murder happy zealots who slaughtered people to the third and fourth degree for association with magic. Whole villages were wiped out if they were even suspected of trying to protect magic users within their community. Blond hair was a common sight in Iceberg, and they had been among the first to learn how to bleach hair because having too unusual of a hair color was a sure fire way to get dragged away for questioning. Ironically, according to my research, the Decimation's questioning was incredibly effective in sparking wizard's first instance of power. Which resulted in the loss of life one way or the other as they tried to defend themselves, and were often times mobbed and slaughtered while in captivity. The perfect storm of confirmation bias. Anyone brought in for quesitoning was a wizard and when questioned they would snap an try to hurt those around them.
Ghosts followed the same patterns they had in life. In the last century, the population of Iceberg had diverified considerably, bringing in new hues of hair color and types of people. The young and rebellious would almost traditionally dye their hair a bright color. I tugged my own hair, bound but not covered and almost glowing blue in the moonlight rather than it's usual light sea green. If I had been seen by that patrol, I'd probably have triggered a group of angry ghosts. And that meant my hosts would be on the chopping block with me since I was found on their property.
I wasn't supposed to use magic. If I were caught, I'd be deported at best and lashed at worst. But this...people were dying and a troop of brutal murderers that hadn't been around for more than a century were riding again? This sort of thing didn't just happen. It had been primed and ready to go, something in the last week or so had triggered it. And no one was in any position to be able to find out what.
I snuck out fairly frequently. A dark hood hid my hair and my eyes, which would give me away in a heartbeat. And humming the spiderman theme song let me scale even otherwise impassable walls. All my oobservations and collected data let me conclude concretely that either the most evil of magics was responsible for this haunting, or a bonafide curse. Ghostly and very dangerous warriors were actively roaming the streets. They weren't breaking into houses or harming animals and property, but any living person they found outside was at risk of being killed if something about them was deemed unnatural by their standards. And given how things had changed in the last two centuries, it wouldn't take much to set them off. I did return to my host's home only to be haunted by the fearful murmurs of his children about magic causing this somehow. Just to make myself feel better, I started to hatch a plan. Partially to address the current near zombie apocalypse and partially because hearing them sound so afraid was breaking my heart.
This isn't what magic is for. Yes, you've been told scary stories about it for your whole lives, but that's not what I've experienced. That's not who I am.
I wanted to tell them again and again, but without demonstration, it wasn't like I could effectively change their minds. Magic was an expression of life. Using magic to puppet corpses, capture souls, or anything like that was...horrible beyond words. Every Light Guild in Fiore as part of their official charter had the vow to do everything in their power to undo necromancy like this and capture anyone guilty of using it by any means necessary.
I had a plan of how to get inside the city, avoid the ghostly killers in the streets, and sneak inside the castle. All without being seen. A map of the castle was beyond Morgana's reach to delve without actually using a spell to divine it and I was already playing loose and fast with my promise to not use magic.
Then, about a week after the alarm had been sounded, Morgana informed me, reading the Story of this event, that a letter left King Gene's hands. It was bound for Fiore, asking the king of the magic friendly, mage heavy country for help.
His family had been prepared for a siege, but their people were still dying at the hands of the spirits that professed to be their protectors. And they were deliberately trying to wipe out the current royal family, professing that there was a witch impersonating one of their own. They couldn't conceive any other way for magic to have been formally legalized. They couldn't even seem to touch the spirits reliably. The old king had set aside his pride and centuries of traditions to ask for magical aid from Fiore, who they had historically barely been civil with, given how the country had embraced magic as wizards rose to prominence.
When Morgana woke me to tell me that, I made an executive, and very stupid decision. Time was of the essence. And surely more reconnaissance wouldn't hurt? I'd just get into the castle and figure out what was happening to help the other wizards when they got here.
But, well, the entire castle was built to defuse and redirect magic, making it harder to use spells that didn't have some kind of touch or physical tie, including Morgana's history 'download' or a map. And while we had been doing that, I'd been spotted by a pair of incorporeal knights and attacked. Things had only gone downhill from there.
-vVv-
I whisked around one corner, tucking myself into an alcove as the four knights moved past me at a brisk pace. They were on alert still, but as far as I could tell, they weren't actively looking for anyone inside. JUst trying to keep anyone new from coming in. The last one was moving a bit more slowly and was actually checking the dark corners. I didn't hiss in frustration or bite my lip. I just pushed magic into my hands and quickly climbed up out of easy line of sight for most people, flattening myself against the cieling. It was fairly low all things considered to help conserve heat. but the small lip of stone would give me enough cover. Hopefully. I had discarded the pretense of not using magic while here. My priority was staying alive long enough to figure out a way to stop this. Plus their king had asked for help so I had very good odds of not being punished. At least not for evaisve manuvers.
Ok, think. What have we got that can help?
The patrol moved on and I dropped silently back to the ground and reviewed my options.
Iron disrupted spirits, and Erza's sword was the highest quality she could get. And with the kind of pay brought in, or had brought in, she could afford the best. Salt, as a purifying agent, was effective against all kinds of impure magic, but especially involving the undead. It was part of why so much of it was used by cultures that embalmed their dead. It kept their ghosts from doing...exactly what was happening here. And those were good countermeasures, but there were only so many ways of sending the undead back to rest. Either give them what they wanted, or find whatever they were using to anchor themselves here, and destroy it.
Or killing them. Again. That works in some cases.
I had made it through more than forty of the maddened, not to bright spirits roaming the palace looking for the imposter royal. They weren't thinking normally. They were behaving as if they were patrolling the palace after a lockdown order was issued. Not even checking the secure locations they knew were there. They didn't have the best mental capacity it seemed. Out of sight, out of mind.
They appear to be falling into old patterns of habit from their lives. No magic user ever had the desire to conquer the kingdom, or the gall to come inside the palace. So they're standard is assuming that there isn't anyone here.
Noted.
OK: Take stock and think.
I leaned against the wall, the chilly air and stone making me shiver. Haunted buildings were supposedly colder than normal from the dead that passed nearby. And it hadn't already been that warm outside given the local climate.
Fact one:
The Ghostbusters theme didn't seem to have done anything other than make me feel better.
Fact two:
These spirits didn't seem to realize what they were. They had been pulled out of death into undeath, and hadn't had time to realize that their very existence was in violation of the no-magic ideal they held to. Otherwise they would be more...scattered and at war with themselves.
Fact three:
I was getting more and more convinced that this was the work of some kind of curse rather than a straight up case of a lot of restless spirits that could be solved with a Winchester method of problem solving. (Shoot it, stab it, burn it or holy molotov cocktail.)The reason for this was because the entire collective ghosts were too sane. Too balanced. Yeah some of them were like bizzaro centuar ghosts due to their memories trying to compensate for their lack of a mount, but they weren't mindless or blind in their patterns. I had crossed the trails of a few ghosts who caught civilians outside and their only action had been to urge them to shelter in their homes until the all clear was given.
These spirits had to be at least 200 years old, that was long enough that their memories would have started to deteriorate. They'd look more pathetic and wraith-like and act more erractically. Right now, they just looked like slightly washed out versions of people. Whatever they were doing here, it wasn't because they had decided to rise all at once. Someone had pulled them back.
Ok, if it's a curse involving the dead/undead. Most curses of this kind would have to be placed right in the crypt itself to affect all of them. Or somewhere connected to the royal family. And even if it's just straight up a restless spirit problem, the only method I know off the top of my head to put them all back to rest is to douse their remains in salt and burn them. Or the roleplaying game method of slash, stab and burn even though it's a literal ghost.
To sum up:
My goal was to make it to the crypt of a castle that was overrun by magic hating ghosts who had trained their whole lives to kill people like me. I had next to no magical supplies of any kind, I'd needed to leave almost everything I had made outside of the country's borders. And the castle itself wasn't magically conducive. The shaping of the walls, the ways the corridors ran, the decorations...It was all meant to encourage ambient ethernano to stay outside. So even my trusty Potterverse spells would come at a much higher cost than normal. And I could easily get arrested, deported or lashed for using magic within the castle walls, even if I survived this.
This'll be one for the record books. The one titled 'Greatest Acts of well meaning stupidity'.
-vVv-
Morgana alerted me to the patrol routes and that let me avoid the worst on my way down. Under her guidance, I ducked into alcoves, behind tapestries. I even used a hidden passageway to skip an entire floor of patrols. But she was also telling me other little factoids that weren't as helpful.
Iceberg's death penalty has never been rescinded for wizards.
Yeah thanks for reminding me that I'm as likely to get killed if living guards find me as much as the dead ones.
Brightly colored hair was often seen as a sign of magic to the point where dark hair dye was taken as a sign of guilt.
Dang that's harsh. No wonder just seeing me was enough for the spooks to want to murder me.
The Shingo family, Iceberg's royal line, actually possesses a natural trait for Darkness magic.
Huh, fun fact if I ever heard one...Wait...that could be a lead.
Darkness Magic was one of those branches of power that walked the rim of falling into Curse territory more easily than others. It made those users either be very good people to counter the way their power was pulling them, or absolute nightmares when they gave up trying or just jumped over the edge. Simon was my biggest example there.
(I pretended my thoughts didn't flick towards a white haired barmaid who hadn't come into work for over two years now. I also pretended not to feel the aching hole in my chest throb.)
But if the Shingo family had a natural talent for it...then it could be what sparked Marcel's manic treatment of magic users was something he had seen in his family. Or even in himself. And if not that, Darkness Magic was particularly easy to curse from an outside source as well.
Either he's doing something, or someone else has forced him to do something to reanimate all these ghosts.
Which meant I had to go disturb the dead. On my mental bingo card of potential crimes, I added a mark under 'graverobbing/grave desecration'. With how my day was going, I was pretty confident I would have to do one or the other.
-vVv-
Down in the catacombs, I found my target, King Marcel's tomb. The tomb was worthy of being a king, ornately carved, well cared for black marble. The chamber also had various emblems of colored glass set in the walls, more than a dozen of them. Morgana identified the glass as the reforged cremation remains of those knights he had been closest to. A few other tombs were also arranged around him, some direct relatives to him,
In life they were supposed to be his friends, subordinates and allies. But in death, they're just...decoration.
Set above the black stone tomb was a replica of the Crystal Throne, expertly cut to mimic the iconic piece of glorified furniture in the throne room above. It was complemented by the statue of a man holding the scepter in one hand and a sword in the other. Presumably King Marcel, or a depiction of him. Sharp, keen, idealized features stared into the darkness through unseeing eyes. He sat ramrod straight and stern. Morgana had to filter out my perception to make sure that I didn't delude myself into thinking his eyes were moving.
I sat just around the corner in the shadows. Somewhere I could peek around the corner and see the statue and the tombs that surrounded it, but where I also had a clear line of retreat and some visual cover.
The eyes are the window to the soul.
That spell was what I thought might give me the best chance at seeing what was happening in the catacombs. That meant that while people might be able to look at me and see my inner self...it also meant I could get a better look at what was actually going on around that throne. I could almost taste the power that was rooted in it. That was the epicenter of everything that was happening here. I rubbed my temples and my hands together to try and warm them up. The basement was frigid. This was definitely the heart of the haunting. Once I could feel my fingers a little better, I tapped one of the lacrima in my bracers to act as an anchor.
"Seelie Arts: Soulgaze."
Without the ritual circle to boost the spell, I wouldn't get as deep of a look, but I would see enough. Steeling myself against whatever might be there, I peered around the corner into the heart of the catacombs.
There was the monument. That was the same.
There was the wall of names and markers for the other deceased. What was different was I could now see many of the ghosts I had destroyed upstairs reforming, slowly, standing at attention before the emblems that matched what adorned their armor, eyes closed. Sleeping on their feet.
But behind them, now that I saw the other ghosts...There was also a man sitting on the throne, almost matching the statue's position exactly. But while his immortal stone effigy sat straight and nobly strong, this figure was slumped, clearly exhausted and haggard. The phrase 'pale as death' sprang to mind but this was beyond that. This was a weariness that could not be described. I saw he was tired. Tired in every way a person could be and...and not be dead. But his eyes burned with energy and insanity. The kind I had only seen in Faust of Edolas, or Byro at their most deranged. Heavy shackles of dark red magic tied his right hand into alignment with the sword. Someone had tied him to this place. Bound him. The darkness that raged around him was entering his sleeping knights, making their faces twitch with nightmares.
He was also mouthing something.
Translate, please?
Morgana was far better at lipreading than I was.
He is repeatedly saying: 'Not the house'
Well that made no real sense. Not even for a vengeful spirit. I needed more information. I had to do a full dive on this castle, its history and the people that had inhabited it. I had to become intimately acquainted with that madman in the tomb behind me. And doing it by talking would not be an option. Not with bright blue eyes and green tinted hair. He'd have a worse reaction than his knights upstairs.
I settled back around the corner, activating a small silent zone and pulling out a coil of salt soaked rope. I lay this down around me, drawing words on the ground with my finger to give me a bit of protection and warning in case someone came. And also to hide me from passing attention. The stone was reluctant to take the enchantments, but I insisted and it eventually relented. I shivered as I settled into a cross legged seat, the most comfortable, balanced posture I could think of to learn something. I might be here for a while.
In Wendy's case, the entire Nirvit tribe that was present had retained their sanity and good nature because of her. And King Mercel had only started this siege after his distant heir decided to come out as a magic user. Or claim that he was one, at least. The truth of that matter wasn't readily available to me. He had been able to exist down here for years without hurting anyone. So what had triggered him now?
I huddled down into myself to preserve warmth as I sank into my mind and magic, climbing through the tangled web of history to try and find what had caused this, and what I could do to solve it. The salt in the rope around me would keep any spirits from attacking me, or at least hold up against the first few attacks and give me warning.
It took a bit before I got back the gory parts of history and to actual information that I could use to try and fix this situation. Only because I had survived reading the Nirvit's history was I even remotely ok reading what Iceberg had justified doing to magic users. And what some wizards had done in answer to the discrimination and hatred.
But eventually, I got past the early kings and arrived where I wanted to be. Marcel. He was the important factor here.
It has to be a curse that is keeping him here. But I don't know whether it's because his own Magic mutated into a curse, or if someone else inflicted it. How did Marcel die?
Suicide.
Simple questions like that typically had straight forward answers, especially when sitting close to the original place of death or the gravesite.
Did he curse himself to become this?
No.
So someone else was involved. In removing any curse, you had to identify the outcome it was trying to achieve as well as see/hear the wording used to place it. To get an idea of how it worked, how long it was meant to last and what parameters would fulfill it. I had a hunch that this curse had been with him since his life. If it were tied to the family, someone other than Marcel would have been afflicted by it. He had not been a popular ruler to the scant magical population, there were plenty of people even among his subjects who had cause to hate him enough to curse him. Even if he had been able to identify the problem as a curse in his time, no wizard would have been willing to risk reprisal to try and help him.
Even if he had asked for a wizard to break the curse on him, in order to uphold the public laws, Marcel would have needed to sneak them through his entire country to the palace for treatment. But considering the mental state of most cursed individuals, he probably only had the presence of mind to consider that as an option for about four months before his mind fell apart too much to cope with the idea of trusting a magic user.
I need to know where it's anchored. I looked around the corner again, not thinking about having Soulgaze still active. Then something happened that you saw in just about every ghost story ever. I really should have expected it.
As though he sensed me watching him, the king's head rolled over, red rimmed eyes roving wildly.
His teeth bared in a snarl.
"I see you, witch."
Oh bother.
-vVv-
This was not my first experience of being the target of a manhunt. Or even a witch hunt. But it still wasn't fun or any easier. My positioning made it so I managed to run up the stairs before the first knight roused enough to attack, but after that, I was on the run. I was herded back from trying to get out and had no place where I could go to ground and pull more information. This time, the most skilled members of the Decimation were working as a unit to try and kill me. I'd been dodging the dregs before. Those that were hunting me now were elite. They were organized. Focused. Purposeful. And without the element of surprise, I wasn't doing nearly as well. The steel of my sword could still disrupt them, but even the rank and file members seemed to be reforming a lot faster with their king's direction and order driving them. Morgana tracked that there were only about thirty ghosts in the castle altogether. While the whole platoon of magic hunters had numbered well over five hundred, only about thirty of them, mostly the officers, were really close to Marcel,
So it's definitely his curse that's letting his ghost pull them out of the afterlife as well.
With the subtle means no longer being an option, and with my life being actively in danger, I could either try to hold out until help arrived, or try and fix this myself. Curse breaking was my bread and butter. I didn't know when King Gene's message would arrive, who would receive it or how long it would take for help to get here. My best chance of survival was if I handled this myself. Better to be proactive than constantly running. I could get tired. They never would. But there was an opening to get some information, which was the best weapon I could be looking for.
Ghosts were chatty, they would talk more easily than a human under most circumstances. Those memories were all they had after all... And the king, the most informed on this situation, had taken himself off of my short list of prospects by ordering this game of cat(s) and mouse. The ghosts chasing me all looked more or less the same with some subtle differences to the design of their armor and choice of weapons. And by that time, I was close enough that I had more concerns than just talking to them.
They were clearly trained to fight with weapons and destroy magic users. I could tell that much. They never really bunched up tightly and stayed mobile. Which was a good countermeasure against an area-of-effect spell. They timed their strikes to harry and confuse me, keep me spinning back and forth. Those who couldn't reach me to attack kept up a terrible racket, clanging blades against their armor and screaming bloody murder. With the intent of disrupting concentration for potential spells .
But from what Morgana had discovered during our dive through history, these people hunting me were still not high enough in rank to get me what I needed to know.
I need a high ranking officer. Someone who was really close to Marcel before he died.
These knights also needed a lesson. I was getting tired of being the one who was chased.
I had been carrying a naked sword this whole time, but this was the first time I used it on the offensive. I stepped into a Spin Attack, it was a basic enough move, just adding a bit of light and extra cutting power to the edge of my blade to drive them back. It gave some of them pause, shaking them from their reflex routines.
"I am done with all of you!" This was the first time I had tried to talk to them.
"Silence witch! We have purged magic from hundreds of innocent souls!"
"We shall save you as well!"
The laugh that tore from my throat was bitter and anger started to burn in my gut, low, cold and precise. The things I had seen in their histories, close to their graves, had left me with very little pity for them, however misguided they may have been. They may have not had a predisposition to accept magic users, but their every action against them had been poison that they gulped down like their lives depended on it. And that poison had meant a lot of innocent lives were lost for no good reason other than fear and irrational hatred.
"By purged, you mean kill. And the only truly relevant word there is 'innocent'."
I held my sword up, the dirk Erza had given me years ago. A pair of her signature diamond shaped silver earrings tapped against the skin under my ear as I raised my head. I had needed to clean out her personal apartment and move all her things to another storage facility. We didn't have the funds to keep up her old location. Kagura and I had gotten our ears pierced and wore her spares to keep our mutual mentor and friend close. And I felt her close by. This was precisely the kind of thing she would have done. Take on ridiculous odds.
Because she could do it. And she knew it. I didn't know. But I would be damned if I wasn't going to at least try.
"You slaughtered men, women, innocent children for nothing more than living near someone who came into magic that they never used. Demanded that parents turn over their children for purging if they had the nerve to be born with the wrong colored hair. Magic users who you called monsters simply because they felt things you could not understand. And let me make this perfectly clear:"
The sword spun in my hand, feeling lighter and more natural than it ever had before. I literally burned with fervor and anger, but cold, settled deep inside me where it felt like it would never thaw. Morgana pulled the memories of sword fighting practice to the forefront of my mind, shifting gears into a different mindset. Putting aside the finer details of enchantment to focus on this skillset instead.
"You hunted magic users who barely knew what they were doing. Not wizards."
That enraged them. They came at me.
And it was like they were all so much slower. Like their ghostly armor had highlighted weaknesses that I instinctively knew how to exploit. Three blows and they fell apart into clouds of semi solid ectoplasm that rapidly evaporated on the cold stone floor
"And I'm not just a wizard: I'm Fairy Tail."
I was still trapped, alone, and up against a troop of immortal ghostly knights out for my blood.
"And I'm not running anymore."
-vVv-
Before, I had hid, snuck around avoiding fighting. Now, I was hunting the knights as surely as they were hunting me. I would run up walls, jump to a better position, even lay to ambush some of them. I had to flush out their commander. Someone who knew what I needed to learn.
They wised up quickly, coming at me in steadily larger and larger groups. I had to stick to larger and larger areas to avoid getting trapped. Eventually, I got pinned down in some kind of audience chamber. It wasn't too bad of a place for pitched battle. There was lots of open space for me to move around in. All of the knights had room in here to manifest but some were still looking for me elsewhere or trying to find me. I spotted one with a fancy sash and pin towards the back of the pack that I hadn't seen before. Morgana outlined him in gold. My objective was set.
There you are. Finally.
This was about 14 of the 30 some knights that were awake. I shifted my grip, pulling my magic towards my skin as an unconscious natural armor against their attacks. They were as wary of approaching me as I was of commiting to a direction of attack.
I...might need some backup for this.
Self deception detected.
Ok, I will definitely need backup.
I had come a long way from the 10 year old that had torn down Faust's palace. But being a 13 year old vs dozens of trained, immortal ghosts was still not good odds. But as I had stated: I was Fairy Tail and we had reason to be proud of our ability to fight.
I had Erza's dirk in one hand. I spotted a gap in the line that was genuine, i.e. not a trap to try and behead me, and bolted for it, batting aside ghostly blades and feeling an icy line graze across my ribs from one successful attack. Gasping as the shock of the cold drove the breath from me, I rolled to avoid the other blows. I ended up close to a suit of armor with a longsword planted, point first in a pedestal, clasped in both gauntleted hands. I reached for its weapon, a sword that was way too big and heavy for me, but I focused, drawing on the scant magic in the air.
"Reducio!"
The blade shrank and lightened until I could hold it up even in my off hand. It should still have the same durability as it did when it was larger. But I had maybe an hour before the strain of keeping it small and useable would start to tax me heavily. But I wasn't done. I wasn't strong enough to rely on the sword's weight, I needed an edge. Literally.
"Acuti!"
Thin metal shavings flaked off the sword as amber light ran along both edges of the weapon, gaining a perfect sharp edge and retaining a hint of magic to preserve it even while bashing it against metal or ghostly flesh.
I was backed against a wall, the ghosts hadn't yet had the presence of mind to realize they were incorporeal and I wasn't about to let them in on that fact. They had also formed a wary perimeter at the open use of magic. The walls of this room were hung heavily with all kinds of tapestries and wall hangings to help keep heat inside the hall. One of them depicted the country's crest, which now caught my gaze out of the corner of my eye. Just to the side and above me.
The Shingo royal family's symbol was a prowling black wildcat on an ice blue field. A snow leopard.
Snow leopard.
Black leopard.
Black panther.
I looked down at my hands, the two blades I held, I looked out at the ghostly apparitions that were my opponents.
The name I had chosen for myself at my rebirth was Faerun, a world with many stories and adventures of magic and courage. But one who possessed a very famous story of a warrior who iconically used two swords...accompanied by an astral panther. This wasn't a totem. I hadn't built something to have this function. I hadn't had time to prepare anything like it. It was very much a spontaneous thought. But I had two swords and there was a big black cat's image nearby.
I have to try. It might not do anything, but I have to try it!
I tensed my legs, the appropriate enchantment springing into life around my calves from the anklets inside my boots, and jumped, using the armor I had robbed of its weapon as a springboard and sending it clattering to the ground. I managed to get level with the tapestry.
I dug deep, focusing on the story and the legend...
Her story only started to be told in the Underdark, a place surrounded by evil. Used as a tool by beings that didn't understand her, only used her. She had found a friend. Someone who saw her for what she was. Called her his friend in spite of her having been sent to kill him.
G2.0...I can relate.
I felt a door. A gate yawning behind me. Still sealed shut, waiting for the key.
The cat's image was squarely at my back. Normally, she would be summoned with a statuette of her and a command phrase. I cut the air with my swords, envisioning a veil being sliced open. I didn't have the statue...
But I do know the words.
And words are my specialty.
"Guenhwyvahr, come to me, my shadow!"
I didn't see the cat on the tapestry behind me disappear.
But I did see a spurt of grey mist from an unseen slit in the air, and form into a majestic, starry coated black panther. Her leap, claws extended, scattered the ghostly knights before her like old leaves on the wind. 600lbs of magical muscle and hunting ability that could swat at them as if they were still solid. Because to her, an Astral creature, they were.
Guenhwyvahr, a panther from the Astral Plane of existence. Friend and companion to Drizzt Do'Urden. A crucial part of my gateway story into the world of Faerun.
I kicked off the wall and flung myself on the other side of the group as I made for the commander. Morgana had told me that he had known Marcel personally and was even a friend of his.
Guenhwyvahr, or whatever copy of her my magic had created, cut through the rest of the bewildered and utterly terrified knights with ease. If my shrinking a sword in front of them had unnerved them, she terrified the unlife out of them. Her obviously magical nature seized and held the majority of their attention. And her reflexes, coupled with their surprise, let her move through them like a scythe through a field.
My blades sang in unison as I cut down the men who had pulled back to guard the commander. I moved forward steadily, my arms burning with the effort, my eyes spotting and using every weakness, every possible opening. Two came at me at once, thrusting their spears at me. I crossed my swords, pinning them to the ground, then jumping over the X to plant a boot in one man's semi solid face. I spun my sword back to guard my front as the second man dropped his spear, which disappeared without a sound and drew his sword. I was faster and had his arms severed at the elbows before dispatching him with a slice across the throat.
Erza wanted me to get used to one sword before she even let me consider using two. If it's that much harder, why does it feel so easy?
My target was within reach but about to retreat once again. I caught my salted rope, hastily coiled by my side, on the tip of one of my swords and flung it around the commander Morgana had identified as Geunhwyvahr scattered the remainder of the Decimation knights.
"Lasso of Truth, Immobilize!"
I activated the enchantment I had placed in one lacrima hidden inside the end of the rope, no bigger than my little fingernail and easily hidden in the heavy fibers. The rope took on a faint gold luster and the slack wound securely around the captain of its own accord. He went stock still, unable to so much as twitch.
Holy fudge I can't believe that actually worked. Score! And check later if the enhanced strength, reflexes and fighting ability works too.
The man looked petrified and struggled against the rope, but to no avail. The line was tight around him and I could feel him struggling to move. I could probably have held him still with only magic, but I sheathed one sword to grip my tool of interrogation. It helped channel the power more directly.
"It's not going to hurt you." I informed him. "And I don't want to hurt you either. I want to put you and your men back to rest but I need to know something first."
"Do your worst, witch! I'll not betray my king!"
I blew out a short, annoyed breath. The black panther behind me prowled, watching me, the room and the halls where the other knights had fled to.
"Fine, we're playing hardball. Your king, Marcel Shingo. He's been a ghost ever since he died, and he kept part of the Decimation with him. Is that correct?" He tried to spit at me. It would have worked a lot better if he weren't dead. I tightened my grip on the rope and tugged him a little closer. "The Lasso commands you answer!"
Magic poured into my totem and he straightened abruptly, eyes going vacant for a split second.
"My King never reached the rest of death." He slumped and his eyes widened in horror. "What sorcery-"
If I let him freak out now, I wouldn't get more answers out of him. I had to keep him talking, let his indignance loosen his tongue.
"Exactly. Sorcery. No one becomes a ghost without some kind of magic being involved. Who cast the spell? Why did they target Marcel?" He bared his teeth, determined to keep silent. "Answer!"
I barked, invoking the truth spell again, feeling the magic power leave my body.
"A wild sorceress from the mountains." The words came out slowly at first, the next sentence more easily. It wasn't forced by the Lasso. He wasn't trying to hide it. "We saved her brood from living in her corruption."
He truly believes their actions saved them. This kind of conviction was the kind I hated facing.
"Meaning you killed her children." That was plenty of motivation enough to lay a curse like this. "How?"
This time, I barely needed to activate the Lasso. The officer spoke with pride about this.
"We sent them on quietly in their sleep. They didn't suffer."
Remind me to not lose my temper yet.
I felt Morgana wordlessly help clamp down on my emotional responses. Logic, control, purpose. Anger could wait until I had what I needed from this man.
"And what did she say when she cursed him?"
This he did fight. A lot. I glared at him, feeling my eyes glow as the dark shape circled us, alert for any additional threats.
"I can force it out of you, you know I can. And I will if it means I can stop you butchers who call yourselves knights from haunting the people of this country. Now: Tell me the wording of the curse. "
I enunciated my command slowly and precisely, enforcing it with my Lasso of Truth. The commander writhed again, trying to defy the spell I was putting him under. I matched wills with him for an infinite moment...
I know there is a truth. And I know I can find it in you. Now talk before I get really mad at you.
He broke with an inaudible snap.
"'You shall never again know rest until magic is welcomed into your land, your house and your kin!'"
The commander screamed, the force of the conflict between his will and my magic disrupting his form and making him evaporate abruptly. I recoiled the rope, satisfied and doubly unnerved.
'Never again know rest.' That curse would have given him insomnia at a literal translation, paranoia at a more distant one...and apparent functional immortality as a third side effect since one can call death a form of rest.
And Marcel had been repeating 'not the house'.
"Well damn." I said out loud. Guenhwyvahr looked at me, cocking her head. "The guy animating all these ghosts isn't trying to protect his people from magic. He's trying to keep the curse's conditions from being fulfilled so he can stay alive."
The intelligent cat waited patiently, eyes watching me keenly. I looked at her for a moment, wondering...
Is this just a really good copy made from my magic or is she actually in there? I couldn't tell. Stories came to life too easily, especially for me, to be certain for right now. But I did sort of miss having someone to talk to.
"I hope I'm not keeping you from anything important, but I really do have to solve this restless spirit problem and you were the first one I could think of who might be able to help." She gave a short sound that resembled a laugh, but I might also be reading into it. "Do you mind staying a while longer?"
She sat back on her haunches and waited patiently.
I'll take that as a no since I'm pretty sure she can self dispel if she wants to.
"Marcel will stay alive, or at least unable to die, until magic is welcomed into his land, house and kin." I said, thinking out loud, checking my weapons and resheathing Erza's with care after verifying it hadn't suffered any damage. I didn't have a sheath for my borrowed sword. Let alone one that would fit it in its smaller state. "The prince, one of his direct descendants, sparked this whole debacle by announcing to the country on his coronation day that he has magic. They cheered for him and were happy. So magic is accepted in the country, and among his family. But his house..."
Be welcomed in the house.
...Well, some curses are lifted just that easily.
I had to go introduce myself to the living royal family and get invited, or welcomed to their palace.
-vVv-
I had about two more minutes of travel before the Decimation Knights came back with a vengeance, this time even more of them. I had Guenhwyvar as backup, and that made a huge difference.
It occurred to me around the third skirmish that the reason I was able to dual wield without any prior training was because of the coincidental totem I had made. I was using two swords and fighting with her as an ally. I was accidentally playing the role of Drizzt Do'Urden himself. It showed not just in my possessing skills I had not trained in, and in experience I hadn't gained. Guenhwyvahr and I never seemed to get in each other's way. We meshed as easily as I did with Kinana, Kagura or Wendy.
But no matter how good of an impromptu team we were, the last stretch to the door of the royal bunker was still a hard slog. Barred with iron and painted over many times with salt. But no magical runes or protective sigils. Just a straight up heavy vault door that they had been behind for two weeks. Ten knights were between me and it.
"Destroy the witch!" I heard a scream from behind me and turned to see Marcel's ghost, missing an arm and leaking ectoplasm everywhere, but still hobbling along, clutching the sceptre in his remaining hand. "Protect your king from her sorcery!"
Guenhwyvahr growled, seeming to materialize from the shadows and stalk between myself and the other knights behind us. I felt the connection, the gate I had opened for her...and I did what I had seen Lucy do before with the spirits she had summoned.
I fed more magic into the astral panther before me. What I could spare and still make it through this fight. I was starting to feel more and more cold everywhere. My magic reserves were what was keeping me warm and letting me resist the negative effects of being near necromancy. The fur rippled along her back and she seemed to pulse with renewed energy. She gave a surprised trill, almost a mew, but she didn't take her eyes off the enemy.
I don't have limitless energy. We'll have to make this fast so he can't get through and masacre his own family.
They were the last hope of removing the curse. And if they were gone, then it lay solely with him to welcome a magic user into the castle. And he never would.
Everyone in this castle will die within a few more days of this seige. They don't have enough food to stay inside for very much longer.
"We'll have to make this fast."
33 opponents.
All ghosts, all getting more used to that reality the more times they had to reform.
Wait...
I only saw about twenty Decimation Knights and Marcel before me. The ten between me and the door, a dozen flanking their deceased monarch.
Where are the rest?
In the walls, searching for a breach in the royal family's panic room. Marcel knows what to do to let himself live forever.
"Very, very fast." I drew my primary blade and a deep breath. Help me you guys. I'm about to pull another classic Fairy Tail.
Then I threw myself into battle, a snarling ball of darkness and claws at my side.
-vVv-
This fight was not like the rest.
This time, the ghosts took full advantage of their ability to phase through the walls and floor. They did whatever they could to surround me, with Marcel shrieking orders for my blood to paint the floor.
But wherever the knights went, Guenhwyvahr seemed to be first. It didn't matter that she didn't have iron plated claws, they bit into the ghosts as easily as my swords did. She took some hits, and I did too, but my protective runes and natural shielding took on the worst of the damage leaving me with bruises. But ultimately, we stood up to it.
2 minutes, 59 seconds until the other knights find a way into the bunker.
Ok, this has to end now.
I used my jumping enhancers to bounce off the walls closer to Marcel. If he had to reform, then the knights wouldn't come back as quickly. He moved rather spryly for a guy who hadn't slept in years when his body finally gave out. The head of his sceptre crashed onto the shoulder of my offhand, and I let the sword drop with a grunt, using my other more familiar blade to drive him back.
The other vulnerability of spirits that they don't always talk about.
The toss was poorly aimed, but I managed to break the vial of oil at his feet like I had wanted. It splattered all across the hallway, keeping him from approaching as soon as-
"Seelie Arts: Summer Fire!"
He recoiled from the flames as they flared up quickly, spurred by the magic of a high summer, glowing warm, gold and bright against the cold dark stone. A protective barrier that would keep Marcel away from me for a few more seconds. Guenhwyvahr's glossy coat was ruffled and dark with her own ectoplasm in some areas, but I hurried towards the door, ignoring my shoulder screaming in agony.
The other knights reappeared at Marcel's angry call. It was not nearly as doable to fight with a bad arm as it had been to dual wield, but I was still mostly in one piece by the time Guen and I made them all dispel. The undead king was still trapped behind the line of golden fire. The way was clear.
Less than a minute until they have all reformed.
I pounded on the door with the pommel of my sword.
"I need to come in! Stand back, please, I know how to end this!"
I wish Gajeel were here. Don't know how he'd like this much salt on his iron though.
I pressed my hand against the cold metal, wincing slightly at the sensation. It was freezing and my hand was sweaty. Do the math.
"Alohomora Maxima." The door opened with a rumble, rather than a click. I channeled more magic into another surge of strength to heave the door open.
30 seconds.
The ghosts were already forming behind me. I didn't register the frightened people at risk here, I didn't think about the weapons being pointed at me by the understandably wary guards. I just zeroed in on the one who felt like he was the most in charge, an older gentleman with worry lines and a craggy face. He didn't have a crown on but I felt confident he was King Gene. But I turned back towards the ghosts, ready to defend them further even as I yelled at them.
"Welcome me into your home, and the curse will end! My name is Fae!"
"No!"
Marcel screeched behind me. King Gene looked scared and confused.
"I beg your pardon?"
No, damnit! No questions now! Everyone's salvation came in the form of a younger man, mid twenties or so, leaping forward, gripping a blade of his own and shouting. He had pale blond hair and violet eyes and bore an uncanny resemblance to the psychotic ghosts that I was blocking from accessing the room.
"I welcome the Lady Winter into our home!"
That's not- never mind, I accept this Name!
I felt the curse on the building unravel with a snap. The ghostly knights and their undead master faded with screams of rage and I sagged against the doorframe, a long breath leaving me. Guenhwyvahr let out a huff of relief as well, turning to scan the men behind her.
"Close enough."
-vVv-
Turns out the man I had been addressing was the current king, King Gene the Third, a very conservative, traditional fellow. The man who had welcomed me was the Crown Prince, Victor. He had deduced that there was something amiss in their home and had been for a long time. His years of effort in research and deduction concluded, not incorrectly, that his ancestor's treatment of magic users had brought a curse onto their family and home. Cold spots, strange smells, highly improbable accidents and bad vibes all around. The usual signs and omens of a traditional haunting. And then finally, when he had broken into his magic, Darkness Magic, as was the norm for his family, he had heard the mad whispers of a deranged man in the basement bent on living forever.
So he had done what he could to break the spell. His grandfather had been the one to bind Marcel to the catacombs. Hence why Marcel had been chained to that monument, and had needed to tear his arm off, so to speak, in order to come and face me in person. The haunting had been a lot worse in his generation, but had dialed back after the sealing. It had taken years for Marcel to regain some of his influence and by then, times had changed enough for Victor to notice and have the will to try to remove the problem at its source instead of simply resealing him.
"I thought that my actions would be enough to undo the curse, I did not think that because the curse came from a foreigner, I would need the aid of a foreigner to lift it."
I shrugged, patting him consolingly on the arm.
"Don't worry about it. It's a nuance that most people wouldn't have thought to look for. I made a similar mistake trying to lift my first curse. I'm just lucky Droy got his hands back on the right way once I figured out what I had missed."
I knew I would like Victor when he didn't even bat an eye at my dropping this bit of information. His bodyguard turned green, but the man himself just looked intrigued and curious.
"How old were you when you handled your first curse?"
"Ah...eight? I didn't even have a year of experience at that point and that happened even with an expert's supervision."
In hindsight, telling a grown man who had done his best to protect his family that he had made the same mistake as an eight year old child was probably kinda rude. Hopefully the additional context had salvaged his pride a little. It seemed to have worked. The man brightened with interest.
"So you work with supervision to start with? When did you begin to work independently?"
He wasn't asking how old I was, or making a remark on my age, or lack thereof. And he had sent for a strong black tea and snacks for two. If I was reading this right, he...wanted to be friends.
That is accurate. He is keenly aware of the debt he and his family owe you. But also knows that additional problems could be prevented by learning more.
So I obliged and talked with him. I only took a break from this strange new friendship to go tell Faren, the farmer I had been staying with, that he didn't need to send notice of my death back to Fairy Tail and I had been offered different accommodations that I could not readily refuse. And I didn't want him to get in trouble. And there was still trouble that I had been running around their main palace, using magic everywhere and there was no longer immediate threat of death if you stepped outside a salt lined room. Particularly from the conservative nobles that had been in town for the coronation who already opposed the Crown Prince politically.
Victor wouldn't hear of my being punished for using magic within their borders. Not when my actions had saved the lives of everyone in the palace and stopped the Decimation from terrorizing the countryside. All the knights outside the palace walls had been riding patrols hunting for magic users and majorly freaking people out all over Iceberg. Some more conservation souls wanted to see me at least reprimanded, but King Gene stood by his son's decision.
"We owe you a tremendous debt for your deeds. You came to our rescue in spite of the danger to yourself, both from our ancestor and our own biases." The king, whose hair was more silver than white blond, bowed to me then, a gesture mirrored by his wife and children. "Lady Winter, please accept our most heartfelt welcome."
"You would be the first wizard in all of history to receive it. Please say yes."
Victor said with an almost cheeky look, dark purple eyes clashing with the pale hair he had inherited from his father.
The royal welcome is a standing invitation to the hospitality of Iceberg. It is a high honor and sign of royal favor and trust.
I wasn't sure what to do in response, but I did dip politely in answer to the family's reverence. I stumbled a bit, but I couldn't help it! It felt weird to have people bow to me!
"I thank you for the offer. Is there a proper way to accept it?"
The smile on Victor's face was like a sun breaking through heavy clouds and his glance at his father was swift and mostly unconscious. King Gene himself looked taken aback, but pleased.
That was a good thing to say.
Ok, I'm just glad I'm not going to get deported or anything. I might never get to leave the country again if I cause an international incident, no matter how much pull Simon has with the Rune Knights nowadays!
-vVv-
The news was all over the kingdom within a few days. The Siege of the Dead was ended thanks to Lady Winter. I was supposed to be going home, but had to put that off by a few weeks because King Gene wanted to give me a medal! I just sent as many letters as I could to my friends to assure them that everything was ok and I'd be home before the harvest festival.
Being a royal guest was pretty nice. And being the only wizard in the whole country meant I had a lot of questions thrown at me constantly. And, usually, a gaggle of interested children who wanted to see 'Lady Winter' perform magic.
I blamed Victor for the name. It wasn't dying out even though most people knew who I was now.
"I get that you didn't know my name and needed one, but Lady Winter? It sounds way too formal to be mine."
"With your colors it was the first thing I could think of." He said with absolutely no shame.
"That is remarkably shallow of you. I'd think you would be more suited to an ice prince look. You're practically white haired already!"
"Well, you know how it goes. Royal upbringing and all. We're practically expected to be frivolous and shallow."
"Says the man who wants me to explain Ethernano Dispersal patterns and the theories of Ethernano origin."
Those were not easy topics and Victor had been monopolizing me for my knowledge as much as he could.
"Victor, we said it was my turn!"
Cassandra complained. The other occupant of the room where we had been having lunch and a lecture, Princess Cassandra of Iceberg. Victor was the elder by more than ten years. Cassie was about my age, and, like her brother, had recently broken into Darkness Magic. The subtle kind that Simon specialized in. She had darker blond hair than her brother and father, and softer, rounder features.
"But we're almost finished, Cassie! You think it's interesting too."
"But I want to hear more about her guild master! That could really help me with how to practice!"
"Both of you kids settle down! Victor, we are nowhere close to being done. What you want to know takes years to study, let alone master. Cassie, I'll talk shop with you after I actually manage to eat!"
Both of them looked sullen and put out at that. I had to force myself not to laugh. I was fairly certain they were both older than me. And I'd just scolded both of them as if they were squabbling toddlers.
They are so weird. Iceberg is notorious for its conservative stance on everything. But they're so...normal.
They did just meet you, who they can be normal with.
...I just made two new friends didn't I?
They both intend to write to you and Victor is already planning for another visit once he gets some renovation projects off the ground.
As far as students went, both Victor and Cassie were insatiable with their thirst to learn more and more about their new capabilities. I was willing to discuss most anything with them, or at least what was pertinent to their current skill and knowledge level. And they went with that wholeheartedly. A favored line of questioning was about Guenhwyvahr. Since I had made a rather dramatic entrance with a large black panther at my side, it was how Victor was tackling the naysayers who still wanted me out on my ear for interfering with their nation's business and involving magic without express permission.
You're welcome for saving your lives.
However, to the more romantically minded, it was more of an extremely positive sign. A foreigner risking her life to save the royal family from being killed by their own ancestor with an incarnation of the country's national symbol at their side sent a powerful, extremely positive message. But I couldn't explain how it had worked. Or how that big impressive tapestry that I had accessed as a summoning gate for the Astral panther had been so torn up. (Curiously in the exact places where I knew my temporary companion had been wounded in the fighting) It was almost nothing but rags when we finally made it around to the great hall where I had been pinned down. Since I sensed she was getting more and more tired, I dismissed her soon after the worst of the chaos had died down with thanks. She gave me an affectionate nuzzle before she faded into starlight. I had been asked repeatedly if I could call her back. I avoided that by citing, truthfully, that most summons needed a cooldown or rest period before they could be called back.
But the whole truth was I had no idea if I could pull off a repeat performance. I could summon an illusion that looked and behaved like Guenhywvahr. But I hadn't done that the first time. It hadn't felt like a copy of her. I would swear she had been the genuine article. The panther from the story that Morgana still thought back on with fond nostalgia.
And if she had been real...so many other things could also be real. Like that dreamlike day I had had where I was told I went on a 24 hour study bender and made a universal lock pick and a foldover of highly psychically reactive paper. Or that was what everyone else called the Sonic Screw Driver and the psychic paper that I thought I had gotten from the Doctor.
Once, I can explain away as a fever dream of some kind. But twice...? That's harder to disprove.
Regardless, my brief ingredient excursion into Iceberg yielded a great many unexpected results. But at the end of the day, I still had to call on my profession as an entertainer. Tivel, the court bard, wanted to get a jump on dramatizing what had happened into a ballad. And I had to wield my authority as a central figure in the events he wanted to portray to prevent him from taking too much creative license with my character.
"I know that drama sells and convulsions make a story interesting. But you're not making a work of fiction. You've been asked to accurately portray recent events by your patrons. Events that I am part of. Stick to facts. You don't want me to catch you embellishing the truth."
"Is that a promise, Lady Winterfae?"
He asked, pale grey eyes twinkling at me mischievously. His hair fell in foppish curls, restrained by a half up braid with a feathered cap. He couldn't have looked more like a bard if he had been trying. I gave him a long, deadpan stare.
"I tell stories too, Mr Tivel and once the truth is recorded and known, you are more than free to take inspiration wherever you wish. But I am also a historian. I've parsed dozens of similar recounts of important events in Fiore trying to narrow down what the truth is. Little would please me more than to have words with those who thought that moments of death, terror and cruelty needed a pair of star crossed lovers, a tragic backstory, or a royal cast off to make history seem more grand than it was."
His smile dropped into a thoughtful consideration, his head tilted slightly as he looked at me. Morgana affirmed that I had gotten through to him.
"An advocate of the arts as well as truth? Those are often in conflict."
"Only to some perspectives. Truth is what is lived, every day. Art is the expression of self used to live more wholly or escape from a painful reality. There are wounds that are still too fresh to be made light of for everyone who now has an empty place at their table due to the Decimation running mad. Make art in their honor, but first let their memories be cemented in truth."
I couldn't walk through the palace or city without crossing the trail of someone that had died because of the Decimation. I wasn't tormenting myself by taking full responsibility for the actions of a homicidal ghost, but I didn't want the deceased's memories to be lost in entertainment before they could be properly mourned. The bard was smiling again, but a softer look now. An understanding. He suddenly didn't look nearly so much like a dandy.
"Your exploits will make excellent stories for the future generations of wizards in our land."
That was a freaking test, wasn't it?
It didn't start out as one, but you passed regardless.
-vVv-
I left Iceberg for home with new clothes, new friends, an enormous supply of food and a stack of requests for the wizarding guilds and schools to send teachers for the fledgeling community of Iceberg wizards. Teachers from Fairy Tail.
"We will have a great many amends to make with our neighbors for our past. But we especially hope that your people know they will always find friends among us."
I felt like I should report this to the Magic Council, maybe even the king, but I was still thinking about it. I looked at the palm sized symbol Victor had told me to keep with me and show should I ever require passage through their lands.
The glass statue of a cat, one paw raised as though about to take a step forward. The underside of that paw could be used to mark seals on letters, should any of my friends need to travel to or through Iceberg on magical business or to fulfill those teaching contracts they had written up. But the statue was now mine. Their artisans took great pride in making sure each of these pieces was unique. Unlike it being made into a black snow leopard like the others, it was very plainly a black panther. Her eyes had a special stone in them that made them reflect ice blue at a certain angle. The finish on her coat made her sparkle, like-
Like Guen had.
I wonder if I'll ever figure out if she was real or not.
I shrugged out my wings, which elicited a cheer of delight from the kids that had gathered to watch me depart, and took flight, more than ready to go home and forget for a while that I had been the target of a witch hunt, run my own ghost hunt, and solved the problem by being invited inside.
My gosh, I really am turning in an actual fairy.
-vVv-
Guenhwyvahr rested her head on her paws, considering the strange adventure she had just witnessed.
She knew the mortal world. She was familiar with it through the many times she had been summoned through to the other side. But this call, while specific and directed straight for her, even using the proper words, had not come from Drizzt Do'Urden, the present holder of her statue. The voice had been young, female and the notes of desperation along with the unspoken message made Guen answer the call.
I'm alone, scared and desperate. Please... I need help.
A child's voice and a child's need.
The girl had known her name, known her words, and had recognized Guenhwyvahr. Not only that, she had spoken to her like she knew she was understanding her rather than as simple beast. She had even been polite enough to request for her aid after the initial conflict instead of assuming she had it. She still hadn't worked out how the girl had known her name or her words, let alone how she had created a new gate for her to pass through to a new Material Plane. But that was a thought for another time.
Letting her eyes drift into a peaceful snooze, Guen thought to herself how funny it would be if she were able to tell Drizzt about her curious adventure with an unlikely but striking companion. A wizard girl with bright eyes and boundless courage. Too young to be fighting such adversaries like a wraith king, on her own ,yet strong enough to do so and come away triumphant.
If a call came again from that strange world, then she would heed it. She wanted to see more of what this fairy child could do.