Your Future Hasn't Been Written Yet
by K. Stonham
released 26th January, 2024
"Brother!" Dictatious called from within his prison. "Brother!"
But there was no answer, as there had not been the dozen times before.
He growled. He would even settle for the brute who was his brother's companion. Anyone to tell him what was going on!
Fuming, he settled down on the floor of his enchanted cell, stacking again the books that had been knocked over. This time alphabetically by author rather than by title. Despite the magic lantern he had been given, and the glow of half a dozen shards of heartstone his brother had seen fit to lower into this oubliette, it was not very big and decidedly not homelike.
But the shockwave of magic had upended everything, knocking Dictatious off his feet and his meager possessions hither and yon, leaving a mess.
And still no one was coming to tell him what that had been! His was a strategic mind, formed by books and honed by millennia attempting to prove his worth to Gunmar the Black. And what had started first as a survival strategy had, in the end, become a point of pride. No one else in the warlord's camp had a mind as keen as Dictatious'. He took the information all the scouts brought in, put it together, made recommendations to their lord. He had helped find them a defensible home in the ruins of their ancestors' home world. He had figured out a menu - what would poison the troops more or less.
He had helped them survive, holding on hope, as always, that someday they would escape and see the surface lands again.
And when the Pale Lady's creations, the changelings, had found a way to make contact with Gunmar, using the goblins... oh, clever, clever stolen children! They were the hope of the Gumm-Gumms. They were Dictatious' hope.
Even if Gunmar did not see them that way.
And now they were back to the surface world, but Gunmar was dead, and Dictatious' prison was smaller than ever.
At least, he thought, balling up the wrapper of a Nougat Nummy and popping it into his mouth, the food was better here.
But the fact that no one had come to tell him just what had happened worried him.
What if something had happened to Blinkous?
What if no one knew Dictatious was here?
What if this was how he died? Not rendered savagely apart by the warlord, but... forgotten, in an enchanted prison.
"Brother!" he wailed. "Blinkous! Speak to me, I implore you! Please, brother!"
A scrape came from above.
"Blinkous?" Dictatious asked hopefully.
But the head that appeared in the light so far above was not his brother's.
Was not a troll at all.
"Well," said the red-haired human woman, her braided mane slipping over her shoulder and dangling into the abyss like a lifeline. "What have we here?"
Krel ran into Toby as they both rounded blind corners, the pair of them literally crashing into one another and then to the ground.
"Ow," Toby complained, one hand held against his helmeted head. "Krel? You're hard, even when you're not all pointy."
"Where is my sister?" Krel demanded, ignoring Toby's commentary on his relative density.
"She's off with Arthur." Toby waved a vague hand behind himself, not at all helpful. "And Steve and Zadra," he added, which shut Krel's mouth against the complaint that was about to issue from it. Because if Zadra was with his sister, he trusted that Aja was perfectly well protected. Even against a king who thought he could score some kind of political points by marrying her.
Personally, Krel thought it was a very bad idea to marry someone you didn't even know, but who knew how Earth nobility arranged such things?
Well, other than probably badly.
"Where's Jimbo?" Toby shot back in turn. Drawing up behind him, Darci reached a hand down and helped lever him to his feet, even as Eli did the same for Krel. "Thanks, Darce."
Krel shrugged. "The Wild Wood, I think it is called? Claire portaled to Jim and then sent him and Callista there."
"The sorceress," Varvatos agreed, arriving with Douxie in tow, "is currently rescuing those trolls, goblins, and other miscreants running rampant within this castle, and extracting them to that safe location as well."
"Well, that's good." Eli adjusted his glasses. "Any idea what happened?"
Douxie winced. "If I said 'gravesand,' would that even mean anything to you?"
"Uh, no?" asked Darci rhetorically. Eli shook his head.
But Toby went pale. "You mean like evil coffee?" he asked, eyes wide.
"Uh...?" Douxie clearly didn't know how to take that.
"Stuff that if you ingest it, drives you crazy angry and wanting to take it out on the world?" Toby may have given a whimper. "I still have nightmares about that."
Douxie grimaced. "Sounds about right, and you and I are going to talk about how you know that sometime."
"Um, so what is gravesand?" asked Eli. "And is it as creepy as it sounds?"
"And how does this fit in with Jim?" asked Darci.
Douxie's grimace grew. One hand held the other; fingers rubbed at the scars on his wrist. "It's made from the bodies of dead Gumm-Gumms. Ground up stone cores." His face wrinkled. "Best to wear a mask and ventilate as best you can while creating it; it takes a lot of arm strength, and the mortar and pestle kicks up a fair amount of dust."
"Wait, you've made it?" Toby asked.
Douxie shrugged. "You don't want to know what all I've made, over the centuries. As it was, my last experience with it was, well, here." His gesture took in the surrounding castle. "It's useful for battle, sometimes. Merlin kept some on hand to dose the knights with, when the kingdom's defenses - or offenses - needed a boost." He sighed. "It seems that someone, however, got the brilliant idea to dose everyone in the dungeon with it." His face wrinkled. "Nitwit," he muttered.
Toby gaped. "Wait, you're saying Jim-"
Krel nodded. "Jim. And Callista," he said pointedly.
"The young king seems to have shrugged off the dose," Varvatos added, leaning on his cane. "The other trolls, however..."
"Oh," said Toby. And then, his eyes huge, one of those words that Krel was sure he wasn't supposed to say. "Fuck."
"Well, then, I think that's it," Morgana concluded as she sent what she hoped was the last of the trolls through a portal to the woods. She couldn't blame them for their anger; it was, in her opinion, entirely justified. The poor things had been deprived of their homes, their kin, and their liberty. The effects of the gravesand were only amplifying their natural instincts.
And though a few of them had been caught by her brother's knights, or the sun... most had escaped. It would have to be enough.
She slipped through another shadow portal, deftly going between the shadows of an alley and the shadows of her own chambers as she considered her actions.
She could not go openly against her brother without losing her position, and turning Camelot into a cesspool of warfare. And Morgana had few illusions about how that would go. Powerful she might be, but one sorceress? Against a divine king, all his armored knights, and Merlin Ambrosius?
She knew she was good.
She also knew her former teacher held secrets he had not shared, and a reservoir of power that was far older, and deeper, than her own.
She might burn down a few things, but she would also burn down Camelot with her, and some of the people here didn't deserve that.
Stability was important.
So she did as women had always done, and pressed subtly for change. Worked from - and here her mouth crooked up a smile - the shadows.
She would never be the good girl her mother Ygraine had bade her to be upon her deathbed. But she would fulfill her mother's other request, and protect Arthur as best she could.
Even from his own foolishness.
Magic was the beating heart of the world; did her little brother truly think he could either master it, or snuff it out?
Her handmaidens appeared back in her rooms a mere moment after Morgana, both girls stepping through one of Claire's portals. "I think we got them all," Claire reported. "We couldn't find any more trolls, or any bits of commotion."
"Fine work," Morgana complimented them both. She glanced at her door. Hopefully no one had come looking for her to help contain the menaces escaped from the dungeons - but, no, she'd been in Merlin's tower. If anyone had come knocking in the last half hour, she could plausibly claim to have been somewhere between those two locations. "Now, I know your talents, child, and as they are gifts we share, I'm sure we have much to discuss. But, you, Mary... how may I help you embrace your full potential?"
That won a displeased frown from the girl. "You don't have electricity or social media now, so I'm not sure you can."
Morgana blinked. Then - she couldn't help it - she laughed. "Of course we have electricity! Child, what do you think this is, the dark ages?"
Mary blinked. "Wait. What?"
"Uh," said Claire.
A chuckle sent Morgana over to her wardrobe. She threw open the doors, then banished the enchantment which hid the magical space beyond. "Come with me to my workshop."
"You have a workshop?" asked Claire, following Morgana as she stepped up and in.
"Whoa. Are we going to Narnia?" asked Mary.
Morgana's space within a space was not nearly so grand as Merlin's - but then, she didn't have nearly as many books. She didn't need them; if she desired research in grimoires, after all, she had merely to enter the master's domain. But what she did have were tools. Including a bit of flawless glass and perfectly woven Damascus silk, rescued from one of Gwen's late dresses. Arthur had ordered them all burned, in his grief, but Morgana had seized one, as deep a blue as midnight, claiming she wanted a memento of her dearest friend. She had sworn to her brother that he would never see it again, and indeed he hadn't. But it decorated this room, and each time Morgana used a bit of it in her magic, she imagined that she saw once more Guinevere's delighted smile.
"To create electricity," she lectured, "a mage may wait for a lightning storm... or," she said dramatically, rubbing the cloth briskly across the glass, "she may create it herself." She pulled the cloth away with a flourish; it hovered in the air, flaring eerily, charged.
Mary reached toward the cloth; it discharged onto her fingers with a snap. She yanked her hand back, startled. Then her eyes narrowed. "Show me how to do that."
Smiling, Morgana did.
Scrambled thoughts about from the frying pan into the fire churned through Jim's mind as he stared at Callista - at Deya-to-be - siding with Gunmar. Aligning herself firmly with the bad guy.
There has to be a way to fix this, Jim thought, panic forming a cold knot in the middle of his chest. I can fix this. I can fix this.
If I don't fix this, Douxie's gonna kill me-
Gunmar growled, sounding pleased, as first one, then another, then another gravesanded troll shifted to his side. More and more were popping into the shade of the woods, sent through too many shadow portals for Claire to have been doing it alone.
Morgana was a good guy at this point in time.
She and Claire probably thought they were doing the trolls favors, getting them out of Camelot and away from Arthur and his murderous knights.
Jim swallowed down bile. Throwing up would do him no good.
"And you?" Gunmar asked, finally addressing Jim.
Jim's fight-flight-freeze instinct was broken.
"I go where she goes," he grated, nodding at Callista. Whose eyes widened. A small smile crossed her mouth.
Well, at least she didn't hate him.
Gunmar chuckled, similarly pleased. "Then let us return to my encampment. You will test yourselves against myself, my son, Bular, and General Aaarrrgghh, to see where you fall within our ranks. But be assured," he said, casting his burning gaze over all the assembled trolls, "you will each see battle. And we will have our vengeance against this tyrant king who has stolen our lands, enslaved our people and killed our young. Soon, he will be no more!"
A shiver ran down Jim's spine at the roaring cheer that rose from the crowd.
They fell into line, more or less, jostling one another as they followed Gunmar.
Callista walked next to Jim. "Sticking with me, huh?" she asked him.
He couldn't tell her why. Couldn't tell her that he needed to find a way to free her from the gravesand, from Gunmar. "I stick with my friends," Jim said instead.
"Absolutely not!" Merlin stated.
"But Merlin-"
"Arthur." The magician met the king's gaze with his own, blue eyes to blue. They seemed evenly matched, Aja thought. They reminded her a little of the few times she had seen Jim interacting with Douxie, when they were being king and wizard, rather than friends and proclaimed brothers.
"Arthur," Merlin repeated, his voice and expression softening a touch. "Magic cannot mingle with politics. You know this."
"Not even to find out what happened in the dungeons?" Aja pressed. "Not even to find out what happened to my friend?"
"Not even then." The elderly mage spared her a glance. "Magic is not to be used for, for frivolous purposes-"
Aja's spine stiffened.
"-and if I allowed magic to entwine with Camelot's politics, everything would come tumbling down like a house of cards. I have seen it!" Merlin bit out. "Camelot must stand or fall on the strength of the arms and hearts of people, not by the power of sorcery alone."
"But, Master, you said-" began the younger version of Douxie, who stood in the corner of his master's study, looking torn between not wanting to be noticed, and desperately needing to be noticed.
Merlin held up a hand. "Silence, Hisirdoux!"
His apprentice subsided. Aja cast him a reassuring glance.
The boy didn't look like he knew how to take it.
"You know as well as I, Arthur, why I cannot interfere," continued the magician.
The king... looked relieved.
"How very convenient," Zadra murmured, "that the very tool which this court is known for, may not be used to reveal the truth."
Aja inclined her head in silent agreement.
"If magic may not avail us of the truth," said the king, "then we will have to discover it by other means."
"Is that a real skull?" Steve whispered, staring in wide-eyed horror at the shelves that lined the room.
Aja chose her words carefully. "Jim's fate is of... utmost importance," she said. "To me, and to any alliance between our peoples." She met Arthur's gaze. She did not trust him in the slightest. "As it is said, do not break up the party. If he cannot be found and returned to us, as whole as when he was entrusted to your care... then perhaps Camelot is not a worthy ally."
Blue eyes widened. "You care for such a-" Arthur bit his bottom lip, and bit back whatever word he had been about to call her friend. Aja would have liked to know what he had been about to say. But it was interesting that he felt she had enough leverage that he was curbing his instincts. "I will see what may be done," said the king instead, which was definitely diplomatic weasel-speak. "If Merlin may not assist us," the king said, giving a glance at his unimpressed sorcerer, "then perhaps my sister Morgana may be of assistance. She has some fondness for such creatures."
"Morgana?" asked Steve. "Wait, wasn't she...?"
Aja didn't know what Steve was about to ask, but she was fairly sure her lovely blond oaf was about to, as the humans said, put his foot in it. "Her assistance in locating the Jim would be most appreciated," she told King Arthur.
When the door closed behind the king and the strangers he had with him, Hisirdoux ventured a question. "Master, why didn't you just tell them you didn't have the Time Map?"
Merlin snorted. "And have to let Arthur know that there was another you running around, messing up time?" he demanded. "Tell me, Hisirdoux, what do you think would be the most likely outcome of such knowledge?"
Hisirdoux thought on it for a long moment. "...Imprisonment in the dungeons?" he ventured.
"That or being put to the sword," Archie agreed.
"Oh." Hisirdoux felt very young and small and scared for a moment. He'd seen the dungeons, from the right side of the bars, and he definitely didn't want to be on the wrong side of them! Let alone run through. Either himself, or the older himself!
"Precisely," said Merlin. "Now finish tidying up."
"Yes, Master."
As he set about his eternal task, though, another thought occurred to Hisirdoux, one which warmed him from inside.
Merlin thought he was worth protecting, even from the king.
He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he stuffed another book on the overcrowded shelves.
"So," said Toby to Douxie, "if Callista's all hopped up on gravesand, how exactly is this going to go?" His fingers tapped at the Trollhunter amulet embedded in the armor that covered his chest.
Douxie winced, and forced himself to reach into his subspace pocket, pulling out the Time Map. "Badly, I suspect," he admitted. He closed his eyes and drew a breath, bracing himself. Then he opened his eyes, and the device.
The holographic globe sprang forth, the timeline circling it.
Both, as Douxie had feared, in the purest red.
"Uh..." said Toby, who had seen the Time Map's workings at least once before.
"That doesn't look good," Eli agreed.
"Douxie?" asked Krel.
"Well." Douxie wet his lips, trying not to let his heart fall into his shoes. Or the core of the planet. "The timeline's shattered."
"Which means what?" asked Darci.
"It means," he said, meeting her eyes, "that until and unless we can get things back on track? There's not a home for us to go back to."
Varvatos muttered something that Douxie didn't quite catch. It was obviously a mighty Akiridion curse; Krel stared at his bodyguard, eyes wide and expression shocked.
"Okay. Okay, let's walk it back," Toby said. "We gotta think about this logically."
Douxie scrolled back and forth in slow widening sweeps as the Trollhunter talked. Callista and Aaarrrgghh fighting alongside Gunmar before Killahead Bridge. Gunmar triumphant over Arthur's corpse.
"The timeline broke because the trolls in the dungeon got given gravesand," said Toby. "Doux, you said there's gravesand here?"
"Obviously," Douxie replied. Above the Time Map, the trolls in the dungeon were getting fed. There was no sound, but he could see the moment Jim went feral.
"Who has access to it?" asked Krel.
Douxie's mouth made a line as the flow of images paused on Jim, clearly fighting himself as Nimue's circlet took effect. He made himself look away, at Krel. "It's... the gravesand is kept in the magical armory," he said. "Under lock and key."
"Great," said Darci. "Who has the key?"
"There are three copies," replied Douxie. "One is Merlin's. One is kept by Sir Kay. And the third... is Arthur's."
"Who is this Cirkay?" asked Varvatos. "And what are the odds he is responsible?"
Douxie shook his head. "Remote. Sir Kay is King Arthur's foster brother, and the castle seneschal. The steward," he added, seeing questions on nearly everyone's faces. "In charge of supplies and managing the servants and suchlike. And Sir Kay is... well, highly organized. But also utterly loyal to Arthur." As anyone in such a position should be. "So if you're asking if he's done this..." Douxie shook his head again.
"How're you so sure?" asked Toby.
Wordlessly, Douxie scrolled back again. "Recognize him?" he asked, pointing at the figure doling out food to the trolls.
"No... oh, wait! He was one of the knights," said Eli, adjusting his glasses and peering closer. "I don't remember his name, though."
"There were only like a million knights," added Darci.
Douxie sighed. "Sir Gawain. One of Arthur's bully boys. As loyal as Sir Kay... and as equally lacking in cunning or ambition."
Blank looks showed on the Arcadian teenagers' faces. But the Akiridion teenager clearly followed Douxie's inference. "So if this Sir Gawain gave the trolls gravesand..."
"It would have been on orders," agreed Varvatos.
Douxie nodded. "And the only one who can order the knights about?"
Toby gave a huge shuddering sigh. "Is King Arthur."
"Precisely."
"I'm gonna kill him."
This was a disaster. And Jim was well acquainted with disasters.
And the worst part of it was... Gunmar was charismatic. He clearly knew how to handle the raging trolls around him. He smiled, he patted them on the shoulders, he assured them that their wrath would have purpose and effect.
He was clearly a counterpart to Arthur in that they were both genocidal psychos.
Never, never, never, Jim vowed to himself. I will never be like that. Ever.
And to make it worse, he was a good dad to Bular. Bular clearly adored his dad, and Gunmar was so proud of him.
(The way James Sr. never had been of Jim. Heck, the way Kanjigar never had been of Draal!)
There were patterns here, Jim could tell. Circles that repeated through different times and different people. No wonder Merlin was so big on time magic. If you knew how something went one time, maybe you could change how it went the next time.
But people weren't like rows of identical cookies, thought Jim. There would always be something different even without meddling. There would always be the possibility of change, even without a wizard...
Aaarrrgghh roared triumphantly above his defeated opponent. His eyes were solid black, insectoid.
Change, Jim thought desperately. Change is possible.
"Good match," said Aaarrrgghh, pulling up the vanquished gravesand-addled troll by one arm. "Train hard. Become stronger."
"Uhh..." said the troll, and wandered loopily away.
Not too far off, Gunmar was toying with Callista, making her burn with indignation and rage.
"You," said Aaarrrgghh. Jim turned to look at him. "Spar."
"I, uh. I'm not really-"
Aaarrrgghh snarled, loud and dangerous and in Jim's face. "Spar!" he commanded. "Or die."
Jim's heartbeat kicked up into double pace. His hand rubbed across his face, over his cheek, the bridge of his nose, and where there had once been a gap in his eyebrow.
This wasn't his friend Aaarrrgghh, the gentle giant who sparred with him in the Hero's Forge and the Arena under his house. This was an Aaarrrgghh who was a Gumm-Gumm. Who ate humans, obeyed Gunmar without question, and would kill Jim if he hesitated.
"All right," Jim managed through a thick throat. "Bring it on."
Fear is but the precursor to valor...
Aaarrrgghh roared, and surged forward, death in his eyes.
Author's Note: Chapter dedicated to my beloved cat Sushi, who after 15 years of being most decidedly my cat, left me this week.