8 - ATOI&F - White Night Fantasy
#17 of Shadowdancer
Shadowdancer
By Dracon
[Notice: The characters and events within are inspired by the "Gargoyles" TV Series and as such credit goes to the creators of said series. If any characters appear in the story from said series, those characters belong to their creators.
Should anyone wish to use the characters or events within in their own works, permission is hereby granted to do so. I just ask that you let me know if you are going to do so and provide credit in your work.
Underage viewers should not read this series, and all readers do so at their own risk.]
A Tale of Ice and Fire
Part I
"White Night Fantasy"
----Chapter I----
Givens Castle
10244 S. Longwood Dr, Chicago, Illinois
November 27th, 2027
11:48 P.M.
Branson paced back and forth across the rooftop nervously, hands clenched into fists at his sides. Elayne looked down at him, a faintly bemused expression on her face, from her vantage point atop one of the towers.
She brought her head up to scan the sky, worry starting to replace amusement at Branson's behavior. Jamie ought to have been back by now, she thought. She called down, asking, "Hey, Branson, you want me and Trent to go lookin' for her? She's been gone too long for my tastes."
He shook his head, though a glance revealed how much the decision cost him. "No, she said she wanted to take some time alone. I've got to trust that she knows what she's doing. Just in case, though... get Trent up here. I won't lose her, too."
Elayne hopped down with a cat-like grace, the sound of her impact no louder than a stone clattering down a gravel path, and she placed a hand on his shoulder, stroking his blonde hair fondly. "Hey, don't worry, big guy. Trent and I've grown attached to her, too. We won't let anything happen."
He offered her a brave smile as she descended the staircase, but as soon as she was out of sight, he began to watch the skies once more.
Chicago Airspace
Over Bishop Ford Freeway
11:52 P.M.
Jamie stared at the ground below her, and heaved a sigh. Chicago seemed so alive at night, far more than a simple collection of concrete, brick, and steel. And, she told herself, there was every reason to believe that this would be the last time she would see it. She meant to stand by the promise she'd given M'shai, but she didn't mean to jump into it blindly.
She'd done a little bit of research on the mescaline she planned to take tonight. The Native Americans made use of it, in the small, impure quantities that could be ingested from peyote. Jessica, though, had told her to take... a lot.
Even counting the fact that she had a much greater body mass than most, it was still somewhere around 15 to 20 times the usual dose.
She had no intention of becoming an addict, so there was no way that she was going to try messing around with smaller amounts, first. Either Jessica was right, and her magic would shield her somehow, or she would very likely die an extremely painful death.
Even if she survived, it wouldn't surprise her if she ended up brain-damaged because of the intense overdose, Gargoyle toughness or no. There's just only so much that the body can take before giving out.
Still, she had decided to do it after all, even knowing the risks. Her one life might well save millions of others, if only she held out long enough to relay what she learned from the trance.
It occurred to her, as she toured the city, that she was acting very much like Jessica had. She hadn't told the others about her worries, knowing that they would act to stop her if they knew.
It wasn't that she liked keeping secrets from her Clanmates, or that she was trying to act 'in character'. She simply had decided that this information, the foreknowledge of when the invasion would occur, was of vital importance, and had to be gathered, regardless of the cost.
With a pang of guilt, she began to make her way back to the Castle, knowing she'd lose her nerve if she stayed out too much longer. She hoped that, one day, Branson would forgive her for what she was about to do.
Lincoln Park Inn
601 West Diversey Parkway
11:55 P.M.
Sora sat cross-legged on the bed of his cramped hotel room, the curtains drawn across the windows, all of the lights extinguished. He wore only a pair of loose black sweats, and his intense blue eyes were opened wide in the gloom. His breathing calm and rhythmic, he stared into the flame of a single candle, trying to still his worried mind.
Some sense that he hadn't known he'd possessed was keening in his mind tonight, dismissing any notion he'd had of sleep. This was an elementary exercise, one he hadn't had to use since he'd been a mere lad, but it somehow felt right.
He spoke a few lines of his pledge aloud, reminding himself of who he was, what he stood for. "I am Guardian. I stand between the light and the shadow. I am Guardian. I walk in the dark places no one else will enter. I stand on the bridge, and none may pass. I am Guardian. I watch the skies, for the day that my life's flame must go out."
Even in a mere twenty-five years, the words had taken on a certain ritualized feel. He'd asked Kai, once, what exactly the pledge meant. Kai, in that fatherly manner he sometimes took with the students, explained that it was each Guardian to decide for themselves. Tom of Avalon had given the words to him, with little in the way of explanation.
Still, they comforted him. Once, they had seemed alien, somehow ominous, but tonight, he drew them around himself like a well-worn blanket, and he felt that strange unease relax in his mind. It had not faded entirely, but was manageable, now.
Briefly, he wondered where M'shai had gotten off to. Sora hadn't heard him leave, but the Strider would have no doubt been offering some manner of advice or commiseration if he were around. Sora smiled grimly, thinking this wasn't the first time he'd disappeared with no explanation.
Licking at his fingers, he extinguished the candle carefully, placing it in the bathroom of the tiny suite, and stretched out the bed, closing his eyes as he willed himself to sleep.
Givens Castle
12:14 P.M.
Jamie landed softly on the roof, her wings wrapped tightly around her body, and looked at her Clanmates. Relief was easily visible on their faces, and she felt remorseful that she had left them to worry so much. But, she had just really wanted to see the old town one last time.
Branson stepped forward, carefully ducking under the thin membrane of her wing, and wrapped an arm around her trim waist. He looked up at her, voice betraying his concern, and asked, "You okay, hun? You said you'd only be a few minutes."
Jamie laid a hand on his shoulder, nodding. "Yeah, I'm... I'm all right. I just lost track of time a little bit. Sorry for worrying all of you."
Trent growled softly, but she detected no malice in it. "We were about to come looking for yeh. Thought maybe those Quarrymen nitwits had gone after yeh or some such. Jamie, when yeh say you're going to do something, when things are this tense, yeh do it."
Elayne waved to her, holding Trent back. "'Sokay, girl. I know how great it can be, the wind rushing past your wings, the glittering of the city lights."
She grinned at Trent mischievously, adding, "It's better than sex, sometimes... Well, almost."
Jamie chuckled at the two of them as she headed for the staircase, loosening Branson's arm gently. "Well, I've decided I'm going to do it. Let me get a few things, and I'll be back here in five. Have you figured out who's going stay with me?"
Branson sounded determined as he said, "I'm not gonna go anywhere."
Elayne looked to Trent, who nodded, and said, "C'mon, Jamie. We're Clan. We'll all be here for you."
Jamie felt a warm tear work its way down her face as her heart soared, and she turned to give a grateful smile to her family. "Thank you, all of you. You don't know how much this means to me."
She walked to her room quickly, not wanting to leave them waiting too long after a show of support like that. As she gathered up some bedding, she began to hum, calling Kee to her.
He appeared before her in a shimmering cloud of color, materializing slowly and deliberately. "You desired my presence, milady?"
Opening the safe, she answered, "Yeah, Kee. I need to talk with you. It's... about this trance I'm supposed to go into."
He sighed heavily, saying, "Yes. I have been contemplating how best to assist you. As I recall, you said that Jessica had arranged for some manner of guide to aid you, but I would not feel right if I did not do what I could, as well."
Tucking the leather pouch into her leggings carefully, along with a measuring spoon, she rose and turned to Kee. A grave expression showed on her face, and when she spoke, it was with a measure of hesitation. "Kee... I need you to promise to do something for me."
He nodded and held an arm out to her as he said, "Certainly. If there is anything I can do to make this easier on you..."
She nibbled her lip softly as she tried to think of how to say this. "Okay... I think there's a good chance that I'm not going to survive this. According to what I dug up, I'm going to be taking a massive overdose. If I don't make it through..."
Her voice cracked as she choked out, "Tell the others that I knew the risks, and felt that it had to be done, if there was any chance of our survival."
Kee winced as he recognized the sorrow in her voice, and he placed a hand along her arm, saying quietly, "If there is any in this world who can do this, I believe it to be you, milady. If it helps any, I have helped Lady Jessica to use the drug safely on a few occasions."
Breathing deeply, he spoke gravely, "I will not lie to you. The process was traumatic to her, but obviously, it was not fatal."
Jamie clasped his hand, holding it tightly. "Do the others know about this?"
Shaking his head, he said, "No. Those were before she came to Chicago. She had not felt the need to go on a vision quest for some time."
She left her den, Kee following behind her, and she asked, "So, do you have any idea who this 'contact' I'm supposed to meet is? Jessica didn't say in her letter."
Kee pondered that for a moment, but had to concede, "I am not certain. Jessica was not a particularly sociable person, as you have no doubt gathered. Mayhap it is another spirit, one of which I am not aware."
They discussed a few other technical aspects of the ritual as they ascended to the roof. She was still rather ill at ease about this whole idea, but Kee assured her that with their combined effort, it would succeed, as it had before.
Trent and Elayne were chatting with each other, on the far side of the roof, but they waved to her as she approached. She laid the heavy cover on the floor, unfolding it just enough that she would fit on it comfortably.
Branson gave her an odd look and asked, "Aren't you going to use a chair? Seems like it'd be more comfortable to me."
She looked at him sadly and replied, settling onto the blanket as she spoke, "I'm afraid of breaking something, or falling, if I lose control to the drug. I'm probably being paranoid, but this seems safest."
With a hint of a smile, she tossed a pillow at his face. Grinning at her, he settled down cross-legged on it, but grew solemn as he looked at her. "Is there anythin' we can do for you? I got to tell you, hun, I don't rightly like the idea of just sittin' here while you're doing... whatever it is you're gonna be doing."
She laid a hand on his leg and looked into his face, pitching her voice so that they could all hear, and said, "You're doing enough just by being here. I can't ask you to do more than that."
She glanced up to Kee, who nodded at her, his flute in his hands, and then said, "It is time."
With that pronouncement, she pulled out the leather bag and the spoon, carefully measuring out the tablespoon dose that had been prescribed to her. Staring at the brown powder for a moment, she knocked it back before her resolve could waver, then handed the bag to Branson as she swallowed.
She began to speak, but was overwhelmed by an intensely bitter taste, her mouth seeming to instantly dry out. Her eyes watering, she tried to swallow again, her stomach recoiling against the alien substance.
Kee began a slow, march-like cadence with the flute as she struggled not to throw up, waves of nausea scorching their way along her nervous system. A tiny portion of her mind that remained focused noted that this was just due to taste and initial exposure, that the real effects hadn't even begun to start yet.
Her limbs trembled as the mighty muscles encasing them began to heed their own callings. Her belly roiled as the powder worked its way into her system, aided by the spasmodic convulsions of her throat. She closed her eyes, trying not to throw up, but curtains of color, like an aurora, pushed their way through her eyelids, a tapestry of dancing fire burning in the silence, accompanied only by the stately melody Kee played.
Four soft footfalls jolted her ears, shockwaves bursting through the flowing chromatics that billowed in the darkness behind her eyelids, and she felt strong hands holding down her arms and chest.
A pair of dexterous fingers carefully opened her left eyelid, and she could make out a grey, furred face through the blur.
Trent squinted as he looked at her pupil, measuring it against his fingertips. With a frown, he released the lids, shaking his head. "Dilated. Looks like whatever that stuff was, it took effect pretty damn fast. Normally, I'd say we get it outta her, but... It's up to yeh, Branson."
Branson scanned his eyes across her tremulous form as he struggled to keep her from hurting herself, and almost told Trent to do what he had to. But, then he looked at her face, and saw how calm it looked, saw the faint motions of her lips. "No, Trent. We've got to trust in her. Just try to make her comfortable."
Jamie floated within a void, surrounded by the luminescent waves of energy. If she listened closely, she could hear a crystalline chiming that shifted and pulsated in time to the motions of the glowing curtains.
It was somehow relaxing, but she could feel her heart pounding within her chest, blood tainted by the drug pounding its way through her flesh. The initial impact of the mescaline had faded slightly, allowing her to think more clearly, and she struggled to keep herself under control, as fear and ecstasy danced along her nerves like faerie fire.
Sweat broke out along her skin as she heard a cool, cultured-sounding voice speak from behind her, "Ahhh, I had thought I would have to wait longer for you. Come to me..."
A shiver rippled along her spine, and she realized exactly how deep she'd just dug herself into. It's not every day that Death itself tells you you're early, after all.
She began to mutter to herself, trying to focus her mind against these hallucinations. "I must not fear."
A feeling like cold fire shot through her lungs, and she gasped for breath as she spoke the second line, "Fear is the mind-killer."
The curtains of energy began to part, fading into a pale grey color. The voice chuckled softly, saying, "Now, now, it's not polite to keep me waiting."
A red haze filled her vision, and she could hear the thunderous pounding of her heart all around her. With her last breath, she choked out the next line. "Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration... I will face my fear."
Trent shot straight upright, his eyes widened in horror. "Branson, now! She just flatlined!"
Trent began pressing on her chest, using all of his strength to compress the dense tissues, as Branson pushed her head back, breathing into her mouth. Elayne busily unfolded one of her wings, carefully, placing a hand against the surface of its shoulder to feel for a pulse.
Surprisingly, Kee did nothing to help, merely continuing his performance, though the song took on a more mournful tone. Had the other Gargoyles not been so focused on Jamie, they might have noticed a faint glow spilling out from under his fur, or the look of intense concentration on his face.
After several cycles of breathing and compression, Elayne called out, "Got some movement here! Think she's back online!"
Intense pain flooded through Jamie's body, more than she had ever felt before, but she clung to it the way a drowning man would cling to a life preserver, using it to help her maintain her focus as she continued the chant, "I will permit it to pass over me and through me."
As the crimson haze faded from her vision, and the illusory clouds returned to obscure her sight, she saw a faint hint of movement, of some form other than the curtains. A pale, white light stood at the edge of her peripheral vision, its presence somehow calming to her. She felt something shift in her mind, much like when she worked magic, as she spoke the next line, "And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path."
The being of light, its glow growing stronger, moved to position itself between Jamie and the other, sinuous figure. It spoke, sounding strangely familiar, but somehow different, with a voice as glorious as the light it projected. "I will not allow you to bring my mistress to harm!"
Feeling somehow disconnected, as though her emotions had floated away into the void, she watched the glowing figure flare, seeming to somehow project anger as a function of light and shadow, as she muttered, "Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing."
The shadowy figure laughed aloud, heedless of her guardian's protests, as he said, "Harm her? Strike the thought from your mind, little one. I could hardly do worse to her than she's already doing to herself. I'm here to help."
The blazing form seemed to waver as he tried to sense whether the intruder was speaking truthfully.
As Kee deliberated, Jamie shouted the final line, charging it almost negligently with Power. "Only I will remain."
Branson watched Jamie's body warily. The worst of the trembling seemed to have passed, though he noted that her lips still moved, as though to form words and pronouncements. He tried to read what she was saying, but the only word he could make out was "fear".
She inhaled deeply, and Trent sat up quickly, kneeling at her side in case her heart were to stop again. Four words tore themselves from her throat. "ONLY I WILL REMAIN!"
Kee laid his flute down and spoke to the stunned Gargoyles. "It is done. This crisis has passed. It lies in her hands now."
Jamie willed herself to move, orienting herself to regard the visitor. Kee's blazing light had faded from her vision, but she felt calm and collected, her heart nearly returned to its normal, stately pace. "Who are you, and why have you entered my mind?"
She could not get a sense of her guest, its presence too grand, too majestic to hold within her vision. She saw a flash of a great, yellow eye staring into her soul. The bearer of the eye spoke in a voice of snake oil, saying, "Is that any way to treat a guest? Your doppelgänger, Jessica, asked that I accompany you upon your journey through the timestream. It is a terrible shame that you never got to meet her."
She drew back within the void, trying to get a better look. "You seem to know more about what I need than I do. Fine, do what you were asked to do. But, this could be a very long night, if I have to keep referring to you as, "Hey, bub."
The great being laughed aloud, a resonant, roaring sound. After a moment of levity, he answered, "As you wish, mon cherie. I have been called Sightblinder by some, Night's Ember by others. But, I prefer the name Corona most."
He reached out a taloned hand, grasping her head softly. He murmured softly, "This might sting a little."
Agony coursed through her veins again, and she cried out as a ripple of fire burnt through her consciousness. An afterimage was left in her scorched mind, the silhouette of an enormous, reptilian being filling in slowly, from the outside in. Crimson scales filled in along his powerful sides, as long, thin wings extended from his back.
She gasped, in part from the pain, and in part from the shock of realization. "Are you... a dragon?"
Cruelly curved fangs, wide as the blade of a falchion, glittered as he smiled. "Very good, little one. Now that the introductions have been made, the time has come... for time itself. Take my hand, mageling, and prepare yourself. I can shield you from some of the trauma, but only some."
She reached out, clasping a single talon in both hands, and felt the void shift and twist around her, its invisible fabric bending under unseen forces. A thin, spidery network of glowling filaments surrounded them, rushing past with an eerie, keening wail.
Corona comment wryly, as a feeling of movement manifested itself, "I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by."
----Chapter II----
Hedeby, Denmark, 974 A.D.
Dusk washed across the earthen wall of the town's western side, and the sounds of shattering stone filled the air. Atop the wall's crown, finely wrought statues of fearsome, bestial aspect, which one would have thought existed to scare off invaders, began to writhe and twist, roaring with inhuman voices.
Father Jakob watched with distaste as they sloughed off their stony shells, lips twisting as he made the sign of the Cross across his breast. For such creatures to live within sight of a House of the Lord was an abomination in His sight, no matter what the Chieftain might say.
"Father, what troubles you so? Pray, allow me to aid you," a rich, baritone voice called out from the nave.
Jakob turned to regard his son. The youth had impressed one of the barbaric raiders during a raid, standing against the vikingr as though a belt knife in the hands of a child might stop him.
Jakob had asked that the boy be brought to him, to learn the ways of the True Faith, and ended up pledging for the child. While young Hakon was not his, as befitted a priest, the youth held a special place in Jakob's heart.
Chuckling to himself as he ruffled Hakon's flowing, blonde hair, he admonished himself. He could hardly call Hakon a youth anymore. Why, in only a few seasons, he'd be a man, right and proper.
A fine specimen of one, as well. The name the vikingr had given him had proved true, for the lad loved to work in the stables, with the town's horses. He'd proven to be a fine rider, well befitting of his name of Horse-son. The work had built him into fighting form, not that a priest's son would ever go into battle.
Jakob shook his head as he pointed toward the opened window. "It is naught that can be helped, my son. Do not mind the maudlin contemplations of an old man. I was merely speaking a prayer, that those demons of the wall would not choose this night to attack the town."
Hakon's face hardened as he responded, his voice filled with conviction. "No, Father, I know that they would do no such thing. Our Chieftain trusts them with his life, does he not?"
Jakob returned the harsh tone, shouting, "Olof is a fool to place his trust in demonkin to safeguard his domain! His immortal soul is his to do with as he pleases, but I cannot countenance him gambling with all of our lives."
With a heavy sigh, Hakon began to turn away, speaking over his shoulder, "Father, I take my leave. I've been asked to speak with the," he spat the word back scornfully, "demons. I intend to give them whatever aid they require. We owe much to their honor, after all. Mayhap you ought come with me, and meet them for yourself."
Before he even knew what he was doing, Jakob had stepped forward and cocked his arm back, laying his palm across his son's face with a resounding crack. Hakon merely stopped and turned, presenting his other cheek in case his Father might feel the need to reinforce the lesson. When Jakob made no move to strike him again, he left the church in silence, save the lingering echoes of the slap.
After he watched his son leave, Jakob fell to his knees, tears welling up in his eyes. "Forgive me, for I know not what I do. Is it not enough that the demons corrupt the souls of our youth, must they now come between father and son?"
Candlelight lit the church for much of the night, as the priest attempted to atone for his transgression...
After breaking free of their stony bonds, the Clan began to attend to their duties. They had bargained their services in the dark of night for the protection of Olaf the Brash's warriors during the day.
Fully fifty strong, the Clan performed many duties for their liege-lord, from patrolling the chieftain's lands at night, to constructing or repairing buildings within the town. Some of the Gargoyles even worked in their lord's smithies, lending their immense strength to the work.
Judging from reports brought in by the vikingr, this was not a particularly uncommon arrangement, now that Humanity had discovered ways to drive undesired Clans from their lands.
Truthfully, the arrangement suited leaders of both races well. The Gargoyles were allowed a sense of community, and safe places to raise their children. The Human lords were granted strong soldiers, allowing them to project force with more certainty than they would otherwise have been able to.
One of their number had been assigned, by decision of the Clan the night before, to treat with an emissary that Olof the Brash would send, to exchange ideas and information. Being of a curious twist of mind to begin with, she did not mind the interruption of her usual duties overly much.
Stretching to work loose her muscles, stiff as they were from her daytime torpor, she roared to warn the night that she was watching. Normally, she went with one of the patrols, making sure no one tried to steal the chieftain's livestock, or anything of that sort.
She also had a talent for foraging, and frequently brought herbs back for the town's healers. While her own kin rarely needed such skills, she had tried to learn the healing arts, bringing her own abilities to the field.
Spreading her wings wide, she jumped from the top of the town's wall, dropping to the ground thirty feet below. Another benefit of the alliance, she mused. An invading army would find it a difficult obstacle to surpass, and it granted her people an excellent place from which to take to the air.
A young Human, of probably no more than fourteen summers, watched her from the shelter of a sheep pen. She assumed that he thought himself hidden from her eyes, but she made out his form clearly by the firelight.
Kneeling, to reduce the difference in height between the two of them, she held out a clawed hand, calling to the Human. "Come on out, lad. I'll not harm you. You're the one Olof sent?"
To his credit, the young man didn't shy away from her, emerging from his hiding place with quick, confident motions. "Aye, warrior, I'm the one he sent. Are you the one your clan chose to speak for them?
She took a close look at him, and she realized that she had seen him before. "You're the priest's son, aren't you? How's our esteemed pastor doing these nights?"
Smiling, he took her hand in his own, and felt the smoothness of her pale, luminous skin, the color reminding him of pure, washed wool. It struck him as odd, not feeling the usual calluses on her palm. Surely, she must use her hands. He had seen her at the houses of healing, delivering materials.
He answered, "Aye, I'm proud to call Father Jakob my kin. Most of the time, leastaways."
She noticed the red marking on his cheek, and lightly laid one of the claws of her other hand against it. "Who did this to you? I can give you something to help it mend, if it would place you at ease."
He pulled away from her, releasing her hand, a distracted expression his face. "It matters little, warrior. Merely the result of a disagreement between my Father and I."
She clicked her tongue, disappointment showing. "'Tis a shame, then. Never should a man be forced to strike his own child. Still, I suppose it answers my question, if he's strong enough to leave a mark such as that."
Clearing his throat, Hakon tried to change the subject, saying, "Uh, well, Olof has requested that I accompany you on your tasks this night. He's curious as to what you all do, after the sun descends 'neath the horizon."
She laid a hand on his shoulder, gathering the thick material of his tunic in her claws, gauging its strength. "Do you trust me, young Hakon? I must warn you, those that have flown with me have had... mixed reactions."
He nodded to her, tightened the sash around his tunic, and spread his arms. "Tell me what it is you need me to do. I would be honored to accompany a great soldier such as yourself."
She motioned to her slim hips, and he found his eyes drawn uncomfortably to the long mane of blue-ivory hair that obscured the exposed skin of her back. He could understand one of his Father's concerns. It was... indecent, the way they dressed, not to mention unwise in this harsh climate. He couldn't understand how she kept from freezing to death out here.
She stood a full head taller than him, her lissome, alluring form barely covered in garments of finely woven, thin wool. A scandalously short, loose skirt, only reaching down to her knees, covered her lower body, and an abbreviated blouse, tied with leather lacing above her wings, kept the front of her bosom from view, though it did little to hide the bountiful swells.
He found his eyes following the sleek curves of her body, but shook himself, remembering his Father's sermons on the nature of modesty and propriety, not to mention what Jakob would say to him, were he to come home in the arms of this alabaster-skinned temptress.
She regarded him with amusement, her expression as chilly as the snow her feet stood in. "Well, Horseborn, are you going to just stand there in the cold? Or, do you intend to fulfill your lord's wishes? You won't be able to keep up on foot, unless I miss my guess."
Trying to focus himself, he asked again, "What is it that I should do?"
With a slight growl of exasperation, she took his hands in hers, placing them on either side of her narrow waist as she turned from him, ignoring the way eyes widened at the contact. "Get behind me, and hold on with all the strength you possess. I won't be able to take to the air from down here."
He actually stuttered, unnerved as he was at her brazen actions, his tongue stumbling over itself as he said, "Uhh, are y-you sure I sh-should? It seems most improper."
She ruffled his hair in an affectionate gesture, as she wrapped her supple tail around his broad chest. "If I don't mind, I see no reason you should concern yourself! Hold on tight, lad, for I don't mean to come back for you."
With that pronouncement, she took a running leap at the thick wall and drove her claws and talons into its spongy surface easily. She muttered aloud, "I despise this accursed snow. A soggy platform's little good for taking off from."
Hakon cried out in surprise as she began to pull herself up, hand over hand, supporting their combined weight without undue difficulty. In a surprisingly short period of time, she stood upon the wall's crown, gazing out over the field beyond. Lights from fires at a few outlying farms glittered in the darkness, shedding feeble pools of light into the darkness.
She placed a hand over his, chuckling softly as she said, "You can let go now, unless you'd prefer to remain. I won't object."
He flung his arms wide, as though her satiny skin had turned red-hot, sputtering out apologies. His face turned bright red as he fell to his knees in the thick clay, begging for her forgiveness. He could still smell the warm, pleasant musk of her skin.
She clicked her tongue again, waving an admonishing finger in front of his face. "Hakon, we'll not accomplish much if you keep apologizing every time you touch me. Please, I implore you, trust in me. I'm no horse, Hakon, and I have no saddle. You'll have to make the best of this."
He inhaled deeply, nodding to her, the muscles of his neck standing out from the depth of his concentration. "I... I'll try, warrior. It is just... our custom, with regard to behavior of men to women, seems dissimilar. For the sake of our alliance, I'll try to heed your customs."
She shot a mischievous grin at him as she moved behind him, commenting, "And, for the sake of our alliance, I'll not hold you to that. You're right, though, our customs aren't at all the same. Perhaps, one day, I'll show you some of the differences... in detail."
Before he could question what she meant, she grabbed under his arms, hoisting his lean body off the muddy surface. Checking her grip, she unfurled her wings, throwing herself from the wall.
Hakon screamed, a shrill, piercing cry, as the ground seemed to rush up toward him. With a powerful beat of her bat-like wings, she leveled out, flying a few man-heights above the ground.
He inhaled, cutting off his scream as he tried to calm himself, remembering his promise to trust the strange, erratic woman. She laughed lustily, her bosom heaving against his back, as she glided to one of the nearby farms, hoping to gain some height from the bonfire burning on its land.
When he realized that she had no intention of letting him go, and that she was not about to plummet into the waiting embrace of the earth, the tension in his muscles began to relax. Despite himself, he even began to enjoy the flight.
She flew as the great hunting raptors, or the sea birds, beating her wings only rarely, relying on their length to carry her along the currents in the air like one of his people's longboats, plying its way across the seas.
She pointed out landmarks that her kin used, some of which he knew, many of which he could hardly recognize, even after she showed them to him. He wondered how it was that she could tell that, for instance, a patch of chamomile grew near a particular felled tree, when there were a dozen other fallen logs nearby.
In exchange, he told her tales he had heard from the vikingr, glorious sagas of life on the high seas. He spoke with great admiration as he regaled her with a story of adventure, glory, and plunder that he had learned, even singing a few passages to add emphasis.
From his position under her chest, he couldn't see the frown that marred her striking face. When he finished the tale, she hesitated for a moment before saying, "You have a most pleasant voice, Hakon. You miss your calling, working in the stables, I believe. You ought to be a skald, lending your voice to the court of your lord."
He chuckled and commented, "My Father would have me form a choir for the church. Not so different, if you think about it. I'd just be singing in the court of the Lord, in the stead of an earthly authority."
She thought of pointing out the irreverent nature of many of the kennings she had overheard, perched on the roof of the grand Hall, but decided not to hurt the youth's feelings. Her kind had learned, through the years, that the race of Man tended to focus entirely on the acquisition of power. The vast majority of them were in no position to act on this urge, but it seemed a part of Human nature. To hear words spoken with such faith and conviction was a pleasant change.
As she flew through the night, an eerie, rippling blaze of light caught her eye. It pulsated, shifting from a smoky, argent tone to a deep, midnight blue, and all manner of other unnatural colors.
She angled toward it, asking, "Hakon, do you see that strange, aberrant light dead ahead?"
He shook his head, calling back, "No, I don't see anything of the sort. Are you certain that your senses are not deceiving you?"
Banking into a sharp turn, she wheeled around in the sky, angling towards the nearest farm. "I'm as certain of this as I am of my Clan's honor. I must insist on going alone, young Jakobson. I'll leave you with the family that tends these fields, and collect you when I have investigated the fire."
He protested, struggling in her grip, "I can take care of myself. Mayhap not as well as you can, but I will not be treated as a child."
She strengthened her grasp, digging the tips of her claws lightly into his flesh. "My Clan pledged to protect the people of your town. You are under my protection, Hakon. I'll not let harm come to you, and the surest way I can imagine to allow that to come to pass is for you to accompany me. I'll return as soon as I can, but if I have not returned by dawn, journey back to Hedeby, and warn Olof and my Clan's leader."
Sighing deeply, he acquiesced, ceasing his struggle. "Very well. It will be done exactly as you say."
She dropped him off at the outskirts of the fields, not wanting to deal with any possible unpleasantries if the peasants proved overly superstitious. It took her a bit of effort to regain the altitude she needed to reach the unearthly flame, but it had not burned itself out before she could return.
It seemed to blaze within a small clearing, deep within the forest. It went against her better judgment to descend into such a space without a sure means of escape, but she felt drawn, like a moth, to this eerie phenomenon.
She set down silently in another nearby clearing, landing on the carcass of an ancient, fallen oak, then proceeded on foot towards the flame. As she approached, she could make out three figures standing around a glowing crystal, the source of what she had believed to be a great bonfire.
As she stepped into the meadow, the figures turned to look at her. One of them, a blonde-haired Human woman, nodded at her and beckoned her to approach, speaking in a low, musical tone. "Come, come, warrior. We have waited for you to come before us. Do not be timid, we mean you no harm."
Warily, the pale-skinned Gargoyle drew closer, eyeing the trio. They seemed to be cast from the same mould, their features identical and exotic to her eyes. She guessed them to be Celts, and close sisters, for they all had the same high cheekbones, slender builds, and pale, luminous skin similar to her own.
A vikingr might have drawn his sword by now, but her kin needed no such measures. Instead, she crouched slightly as she walked, prepared to leap into the air at the first sign of danger, and held her arms in front of her chest, knowing that her claws could pierce flesh as easily as the clay of the wall.
She found herself staring at the glittering crystal, which lay in the loamy soil, its edges partially obscured by the ground. She couldn't identify its origin, for it resembled no material that she had ever seen before.
The crystalline spike seemed akin to a living thing, its unearthly argent glow pulsing in a rhythm much like that of her own heart. She reached out to lay a claw against its surface, curious as to what it would feel like, but the raven-haired woman stayed her hand, admonishing the Gargoyle, "You desire the power of this runestone. I can see its light reflected in those pretty, blue eyes of yours. But, we know not whether the runestone desires you."
The silvery haired woman glided over, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground beneath her flowing, colorless robe. "Bend knee, Gargoyle. Your soul must be weighed, your honor measured, before we can bestow our gift upon you."
Without quite knowing why, the alabaster-skinned Gargoyle knelt, feeling somehow that she could trust the intentions of these strange Humans. They moved to surround her and clasped hands. As one, the three sisters began to chant, "Beneath star and moon/seek we to prove this woman of our boon, her soul into the chalice/but without malice..."
A whirlwind began to form around her as they danced widdershins around her kneeling form, and she felt as though her limbs were weighed down. A lethargic feeling passed over her as a faint glow, as that of a will-o'-the-wisp, formed around her body.
The trio continued to chant, speeding their pace with every couplet. "We peer beneath skin and bone/spirit's rightful worth to be known, be she a guardian and defender/or traitorous pretender."
She felt as though she should be enraged by their words, questioning her very nature as they did, but somehow, she simply could not work up the effort to protest against them. She felt so tired, and it took all of her will not to collapse onto the grass, which was oddly uncovered by snow.
A sense of tension hung in the air as the trio began to float above the ground, supported by the currents of magic they had drawn around her. The continued to intone, reaching a crescendo, "To our Sight reveal/the temper of her heart's true steel!"
The shimmering faerie fire that danced along her skin seemed to flare with the final words, bursting into a haze of glittering blues and greens, tinged with flashes of crimson and silver. The three sisters descended gently to the ground as the invocation's energy soaked through her skin, producing the colorful glow.
They gazed at it intently, glancing at each other in silent communion as they tried to discern the meaning of the flowing colors. She felt strength begin to return to her body as the chromatic aura slowly faded, but remained kneeling, allowing them to make their next move.
The silvery-haired woman smiled at the Gargoyle, extending a hand to her. "Rise, guardian, and take your place among us. You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found satisfactory to our needs."
She rose, drawing herself to her full height, and stared down into the eyes of the silvery-haired human. "This farce has gone on for far too long. Satisfactory? For what? I have indulged your strange behavior thus far, but my patience draws thin."
The raven-haired woman strode in front of her, hands curled into fists at her hips. "In one as young as you, this impatience is forgivable, but not tolerable. Do you desire our gift, or don't you? If all you mean to do is strut and flaunt your dubious importance, than begone!"
The pale Gargoyle eyed them warily, then crossed her arms beneath her bosom and said, "I know not what this gift even is! You three have been too busy waving your hands and singing children's rhymes to answer that question."
The blonde-haired woman spoke in a honeyed voice behind her, sounding sympathetic, "We offer you the Dreaming, guardian. We offer you the chance to peer beyond the walls of time, even as Odin himself does. Why would you not want such a blessing?"
She nearly refused the offering, for it seemed unnatural to her, and she wondered at the price it would exact, but she recalled her Clan's pact. If she could envision battles to come, disasters waiting to strike, would that not be a far greater act of protection? With that thought in her mind, she could hardly refuse.
She stared at the unearthly crystal for a moment, then said decisively, "Very well, I accept. I have, however, learned one thing from the Humans. Nothing comes without a price. What boon must I grant you in exchange?"
The raven-haired woman looked at her with an odd expression, perhaps one of... pity? She said, "The Dreaming shows what it wills, guardian. It will not always be pleasant, I can guarantee that. Oft will your sleep be disturbed by nightmares, visions of that which has not come to pass. This doom will be yours, and your children's, and your children's children's, and so forth until the end of times."
Speaking grimly, the pale warrior accepted, "If this is what it must take, then it is a small price. It does little good to think of my progeny when, without the boon, there is every chance I would be dead before they could enter this world."
The three sisters stepped aside and allowed her to approach the crystal, which began to glow more brightly with each step she took towards it. Its inner light became nearly blinding when she got within arm's reach, filling the meadow with a light like that of the noontime sun.
Crouching before it, she carefully reached out her hand. An odd heat, seemingly more of her spirit than of her flesh, rose along her arm. It felt as though it should sear her skin, but when she glanced down, her hand was unharmed.
A shiver rippled down her back as the tip of her claw contacted the smooth, glassy surface of the crystal. A strange sensation of change echoed through her, and her eyes closed for a moment. A vision of a nearby lake flashed through her mind, leaving behind a sense of urgency as it faded.
She turned to the sisters, but before she could ask anything, the silvery-haired woman spoke, "Your first trial lies ahead of you. Go, now, before it is too late. Do not return here, for we shall be gone before your task is complete. You have made the right choice this night, dreamer. Go forward in all of your beliefs, and prove to us that we are not mistaken in ours."
The Gargoyle woman brought a fist to her chest to salute them, before leaping towards a tall, strong tree. She muttered an apology each time she drove her claws into its hardened flesh, only climbing as high as was absolutely needed for a safe takeoff before throwing herself from its side. She maneuvered quickly to avoid striking any of the other trees as she streaked off into the night.
----Chapter III----
Her heart sank as she approached the lake, as a patch of snow surrounding its frozen banks was tinged with the red of heart's blood. As far as she could see, nothing moved, beyond the faint shifting of snow in the wind, and she feared the worst.
Mayhap it would prove nothing more than a fallen hind, but she felt that the vision would not have driven her here without some greater purpose. She flew several circuits of the clearing before she noticed a shiny, brown object projecting from a shrub near the pool of blood.
She hurled herself toward it, driving deep furrows into the snow with her talons as she landed, and saw that the object that had drawn her attention was a leather glove, still-drying blood on its surface. It seemed that a man had crawled into the bushes to conceal himself, but he didn't react when she called to him.
Speaking a quick prayer of apology to the spirit of the concealing shrub, she tore it from the ground and hurled it away, revealing a badly wounded Saxon man, a soldier of some sort, by the look of him.
He was arrayed in a mail byrnie, cut similar to the tunic one of the men of Hedeby would wear, a thick wool gambeson underneath. Thick trousers, also made of wool, protected his legs, wrapped tightly with leather thongs against the cold. A conical helmet, of glittering steel, with a long metal noseguard, concealed part of his face, but he seemed handsome enough. Her attention was more concerned with the long, ragged tears along his chest and belly.
He seemed unconscious, so she carefully removed the torn mail from him, tossing it to the side. Wrapping her wings in a dome around him, to preserve heat, she tore the gambeson from his chest, and gasped as she got a good look at the cruel wounds. There seemed to be two separate sets, one of which reminded her of a wolf's fangs, the other of a bear's claws.
Without him having to speak a word, she deduced the story of his injuries. In addition to the Gargoyles, Olof the Brash had made a pact with the changing men of the region, drawing together a number of soldiers that he called his berserkr, in recognition of their ability to fight and survive unarmed. This Saxon must have run afoul of one of the berserkr patrols, and they must have thought him a trespasser. She was surprised that he was still alive, given their skill at tracking and warfare.
A rattling cough shook her from her reverie, though he did not awaken. He might be alive now, but he would not remain so for much longer unless drastic measures were taken.
She pulled a slender clay pot from one of her pouches and removed the stopper, pouring some of the thick burdock oil over his wounds, rubbing it in softly. It wouldn't stop the blood loss, but it would help him recover.
Working quickly, to minimize his exposure to the cold air, she stripped his gear from him, intending to make use of one of her native talents, something the Human healers couldn't duplicate.
After untying the skirt from her slender waist, she laid out the warrior as though for a funeral pyre, heels together, arms laid over his chest, then took a deep breath to calm herself. She had never been called upon to perform this duty, but she had witnessed some of her mothers and sisters performing the ritual.
Seating herself on the ground, her back braced against a nearby tree, she grasped his ankles with both hands, pressing the soles of his feet against her womanhood. With a steady pressure, she pushed them into herself, then continued feeding his muscular legs in. She cried out as the intense feeling, similar to that of lovemaking, but somehow different, coursed through her body.
In other circumstances, she would have surrendered herself to the sensations, but she marshaled her will and walled away the lustful feelings, knowing that the man's life hung in the balance.
She felt her hips pull apart, sinews loosening like a tunic's drawlaces, to accommodate the man's form. It seemed as though she should be in terrible agony, as her body shifted and distended to accommodate his flesh, but she felt surprisingly little pain, only intense ecstasy.
He had slipped within her up to his waist, her womb filling slowly, as she didn't want to push too hard and possibly hurt him. By now, the muscles of her womanhood were doing most of the work to pull him in, her hands only acting to guide him.
As his chest began to sink within her, his eyelids fluttered open for a moment, revealing irises of the palest blue, and he smiled, speaking a single name before descending back into unconsciousness. Her heart soared as she heard the name. He had called her "Alfrior", beautiful protector.
She felt a sense of a presence within her mind as his head entered her, a faint sense of contentment forming within her mind. She could also feel an echo of phantom pain, as though her own chest had been torn asunder as his had, but it was only a distraction.
She took a few moments to catch her breath, the sensations she had felt having proved quite distracting, and laid a hand along the swollen curve of her belly. She knew that he would be safe within her now, that her body's maternal instinct would provide for him. It was unknown to her how he would breath within her, but she knew, down in the core of her being, that he would, and that the connection to her strength would stop the flow of blood from his body, as well.
She had to chuckle at her own audacity, taking a man as tall as herself, with a heavy, barrel-chested build, within her womb, but she knew that she would be able to bear his weight. She hoped that she would not have to fight with his body curled within her, for she would be far more clumsy than normal, but she believed she could make it back to Hedeby before the rise of dawn if she left soon.
She rose carefully, not wanting to jostle her precious cargo, and tied the skirt around her widened hips. It was an odd fit, but she felt that it would serve for dealing with Human company.
She thought about trying to carry his arms in her pouches, but saw quickly that it would be a lost cause. He would either lose almost the entirety of his equipment, or she would have to carry much of it in her arms, and pray that she did not drop it.
This time, she removed her wool shirt, revealing the proud swells of her bosom, and retied it into a makeshift bag, knotting it around her fist. The town's crafters had to make clothing specifically for their Gargoyle protectors. The male's trousers had to be made of a different cut to accommodate the extra joint in their legs, as well as their generous genitals, and both genders needed tops made to accommodate their wings.
The Gargoyle females, however, tended to have breasts of a far greater size than their Human counterparts, and so while the males could often made do with modified tunics donated by the town's men, the females had their own, newly made garments.
She was by no means the most lushly built of her Clan, her own bosom being only of middling size, but her blouse was sufficient to carry the man's armor and clothing. She guessed that he must be a minor nobleman or a knight, for he carried a sword, though his armor seemed more befitting a well-provisioned peasant.
He also had a wooden round shield, which she strapped to the front of her chest, its strap holding three slender javelins. As she cinched the swordbelt to the narrowest part of her distended waist, she looked around to see if she had missed anything. She noted a leather pouch that he must have been clutching, and examined it. It seemed surprisingly heavy, and when she looked inside, she was puzzled to see metal shards, like pieces of a broken blade.
She pondered why this warrior would carry the pieces of a broken weapon, but assumed it must have some significance to him, and placed it into his mail armor, for safekeeping.
She heard a wolf's cry in the distance, echoed by other animalistic howls, and her eyes began to glow a sullen red as ice-cold rage shot through her veins. She couldn't handle them now, but she would have to find out which berserkr patrol had attacked the soldier, and she would exact a vengeance upon them. She knew Olof's orders as well as they did, and killing a trespasser was simply unacceptable. Capturing him, bringing him for questioning, that was proper, but simply executing him out of hand was inexcusable.
She found climbing to be much more difficult, a complication she had not considered in her haste to gather the warrior within herself. She ended up climbing with only one side of her body at a time, swinging to the other when she had anchored herself sufficiently. It took long minutes, ones she could ill afford to spend, to ascend high enough that she could risk flying.
She judged that her weight had increased by about fifteen stone, not to mention the man's equipment, and became concerned that she would be unable to glide properly. She knew that it would certainly be a strain, and that she'd be less maneuverable by far. Gauging the situation, her instinct suggested that she rise above the canopy, rather than trust her skill and possibly hurt her new companion even more.
It felt distinctly odd, this other mind that brushed against her own. It felt sluggish, unfocused, but she believed that she could sense... trust? She also felt a sense of satisfaction, which she knew to be her own, and pleasure at her body's perfect function, in spite of the demands she had placed upon it.
Reaching the top of the tree she had chosen, she briefly spoke an invocation, calling upon the strength of her Clan to aid her in this time of aid, and threw herself from its leafy bough, scattering snow in all directions from the force of her mighty lunge. Her wings caught the air currents, their leathery skin pulling taut in a desperate struggle to keep her aloft.
Her kin had a sense that Humans knew little of, an ability to feel the complex interplay of forces through the air. While they could not truly fly, this current sense allowed them to glide nearly indefinitely. Despite this strange ability, however, it took every measure of her skill to keep herself from tumbling through the air, and she could the skin of her womb stretch and heave as she wended her way.
The faint glow in the sky presaged dawn's coming, and she realized she had little time to spare, if she were to return in time. Racing the dawn, she risked swinging her wings back, a less stable, but faster position.
One of her fathers, a ruddy-skinned, jolly male who was known among the Clan as an appreciator of the fine food, drink, and women the vikingr occasionally brought in, and one of her sisters, a finely built female that seemed almost like a child's toy, came in behind her, silently offering their strength to her. They took her arms, taking much of the strain from her fatigued wings, and the muscles of her back seemed to sigh in relief.
Neither of them questioned the gravid dome of her belly, for this was not the first time a female of the Clan had brought in a wounded soldier. She groaned at the reprieve from her exertion as her talons touched the cool soil of her Clan's wall. She glanced at the sky, judging that she had mere minutes before the sun's rays would caress her skin.
Her father and sister stood on either flank, shielding her swollen womb with their own bodies, as she held her arms in front of the great mass, a fearsome snarl forming on her face. She had the presence of mind to drop the makeshift bag and pull the shield from her chest before the first rays of daylight touched her body. Her skin began to darken, hardening into a hard, stony mass.
Time passed, and the majority of the town's residents went about their daily routine uneventfully. Many of them tried to avert their eyes from the town's western wall if they had need to pass it, making the sign of the Cross or of Odin's Eye to protect themselves.
Most of the peasantry cared little whether the winged figures were demons, angels, or even mere statues, but it seemed a simple enough way to hold back the possible threat to their souls.
Moved by what he perceived as the threat to his adopted son's life, Father Jakob delivered an impassioned sermon at midday, warning his flock of the evil their leader allowed to nest upon their very walls, to rule the night skies as the good, God-fearing people of the city tried to sleep,
He had recently received a communication from the mother Church, the Vatican itself, and his sermons had become more divisive, speaking more harshly against the Chieftain, as the message had ordered. It went against his own best judgment to manipulate his flock in this way, but when the Vatican spoke, who was he to act against it?
The sun began to sink lazily beneath the horizon, as the good men and women of Hedeby retired to their homes, exhausted from their labors through the day. Their unwillingness to venture outside after nightfall had less to do with fear than a simple lack of necessity. A few of the peasants feared their nocturnal defenders, riled as they were by Father Jakob's sermons, but most of them trusted their chieftain's decision.
With a crash of shattered stone and a deafening roar, the luminous-skinned Gargoyle awoke once again. She felt a light caress brush against her mind, a feeling of curiosity seeping into her awareness. She tried to focus on the presence, attempted to reassure him.
She felt something around her shoulders and looked, seeing a heavy cloak that had been draped to cover her prodigious bosom. She chuckled softly as she pulled it from her shoulder, tossing it to the ground.
She heard the sound of a throat clearing, and turned in its direction, seeing Hakon standing on the wall. He looked at her with frank astonishment, his eyes drawn to the heavy swell of her womb. Tearing his eyes away, he brought them to the relative safety of her face and commented dryly, "Would I be correct to assume that your night was more eventful than my own?"
She placed a hand gently upon the upper curve of her belly and smiled at Hakon. "You might be correct in that belief. Would you be willing to take this equipment? I must ascertain the condition of my ward."
She tossed the bag and shield to him, and he asked as he caught them, "Are you going to tell me what happened, or are you just going to leave me holding the bag?"
She began to climb down the wall, slowly and ponderously, and Hakon followed after her, slinging the cloak he'd lain about her bosom over his shoulder, and used the hand-holds she'd carved the night before. She took a careful, meandering path towards the stables, knowing that they would be nearly uninhabited at night. Several of the stalls were vacant, and sufficiently large for her purposes.
Hakon tried to look anywhere except at the woman, as even from behind, the fertile swells of her exposed bosom and womb could be made out clearly. As they walked, he muttered softly, praying that the sight before him would not lead him to temptation.
"What are you going to do, warrior? I must confess a degree of confusion in this whole affair," Hakon asked as she entered the stall and began to pile the straw into a soft cushion on the floor.
"I'd think it obvious, my friend. I intend to release the ward from my womb and ensure that he is unharmed," she replied. After a moment, she recalled his apparent squeamishness about her body and added, "Mayhap you wish to avert your eyes, lest the process disturb your sensibilities."
Stripping the skirt and swordbelt from her waist, heedless of whether the young man had taken her advice, she settled herself against the back wall of the stall, and began to breath deeply.
Hakon found himself repulsed by the strange, wet squelching sounds that emerged from the stall, and the woman's moans, apparently of intense pleasure, only made him more uncomfortable. It only further emphasized the vast gulf between her people and his own to him. Yet, despite the anxiety he felt, he also couldn't bring himself to leave her, wanting to be close at hand if she should need him.
She felt pain as she pushed the knight from her womb, but more of it was mental than physical, a sense of disappointment that her mind would become separated from his. It was not unbearable, however, and she had felt far worse in battle. The concentrated, erotic feelings that battered their way from her loins to her mind helped her to push the pain aside, and she felt a deep sense of contentment, satisfaction that she had done the right thing.
After several strong contractions, she heard a rattling cough, followed by a deep inhalation as her ward's head emerged into the open air, forcing him to breathe for himself once more.
Once his shoulders had passed from womanhood, the birthing became much smoother, and within minutes, he lay on the straw cushion, drenched in her fluids. Her belly had become flat and taut once more, appearing as though she had not carried a full-grown man within her only a short time before. Sweat coated her body, and she breathed heavily, still recovering from the exertion.
Forcing herself upright, she kneeled over the man, checking over his chest. The grievous wounds he had taken the night before had sealed themselves, becoming covered over in soft, pale flesh. If she had not seen him bleeding to death the previous night, she would have never guess how close he had come to death.
The oral history of her people claimed that this miraculous ability to heal another living being was an unintended effect of a spell placed upon their race by an ancient, powerful wizard of the Old Empire. It had merely been intended to keep their clothes from being rent asunder as they sloughed off their stone skin, but somehow, it extended to anything they considered theirs, as long as it contacted their flesh.
And, one could hardly consider the resident of their own womb in any other way. The rejuvenating effect of their stone sleep was also shared by the power of the enchantment, as she had just proved.
The knight opened his eyes once more, revealing much of the pale flesh as he took in her form. He spoke in an oddly guttural, though pleasant voice, his accent marking him as an outlander. Though, she thought with amusement, at least he spoke more properly than a Frank. "You saved my life, my Alfrior, and I am in your debt."
She knelt next to him, her eyes watching him intently, and asked, "Do you feel well, knight? You were very near death last evening, I'm afraid."
He rose and placed a strong, calloused hand on her arm, unconcerned by his proximity to her alluring form. "I'm well aware of that, my lady. I had made my peace with the journey that was to come... but I am most grateful to you for saving my life. My name is Siegfried, fair lady. Forgive me, if this seems improper, but I must tell you that you have a beautiful, compassionate mind. A word can be only a pale substitute for what I felt, but what might I call you?"
She reached her arm out of the stall and asked Hakon to hand her the soldier's gear before answering, "My kind have little use of names. That is a question I have not been asked before."
She gave him a warm smile along with his equipment, commenting, "But, I must confess, the name you presented me with is quite pleasant."
He chuckled as he donned his trousers, inhaling deeply of the strong, earthen scent that permeated his skin. "Then, you are welcome to it. Pray, take it, with my blessings. It suits you."
Siegfried poured the armor from her blouse, handing the garment to her reverently. She noticed him tuck the leather pouch under the padded tunic. He fingered the tears in his mail shirt and frowned, remembered pain touching his face.
She reworked the knots on her blouse, donning it and the skirt, then picked up Siegfried's swordbelt. She knelt before him, holding the scabbard out to him across her palms. Nodding towards her, he took it and tied it around his waist.
She took his hand, leading him towards the gate. Hakon looked at the heavily-built Saxon, confusion evident on his face. Alfrior laughed softly as he gestured with his hands, seeming to measure the man against the previous grandeur of her womb. Shaking his head, he commented, "My Father would never believe this tale, even if I brought you before him as proof. Mayhap you ought concoct a more believable story, sir. There is little need to disturb the beliefs of those around you, after all. Might I ask why you entered our lands?"
Siegfried planted his hands on his hips, still clutching the torn armor in his fist, and declared, "I see little reason to declare myself to one without the courtesy to introduce himself first."
The other man shrugged, then answered, "Very well. I am Hakon Jakobson. Mayhap you would be willing to speak with my Father? He is the minister to this town. I believe he ought speak with both of you, in fact."
Alfrior found it odd to enter the church's nave. She had never been within the building before, for Jakob had not been particularly tolerant of her kind. Her eyes darted from side to side as she took in the clean, elegant architecture of the building. Siegfried looked at it without nearly so much respect. He had seen far greater churches than this, though he could still feel the faith that had imbued the very timbers themselves. Along the way, he had asked to borrow Hakon's cloak, as he had not wanted to enter the church bare-chested.
Hakon called out, shouting to ensure that he was heard, "Father! Father! I've brought home guests! Please, I'm sure that you must be busy, but I implore you, take a moment to speak with them."
A tall, slender man, draped in the brown robes of his position, pushed his way through the curtain separating his sanctuary from the nave. His arms were spread widely, a beatific smile on his face. He began to speak, but faltered as he saw Alfrior standing among the rude pews.
His smile fell, and his voice rose in anger as he pointed a finger at his son, a flush coming to his face. "You! My son, why have you brought this demoness into a house of the Lord? What madness has taken you, Hakon? I brought you up better than this. I know I did!"
Hakon stood between his Father and the Gargoyle, rage flashing in his eyes as he shouted at the minister, "You made me the man I am today, Father! And, as that man, I trust this kind, selfless woman! She endangered herself, risking an engagement with the berserkr to save this wandering knight's life!"
Siegfried spoke up, his calm, accented voice a stirring contrast to the anger in Hakon's, "I know that you know me not, Father, but I ask that you trust the words of your son. No demon would have done what she did for me. Believe me, Father, for I know of what I speak."
Jakob sighed, then motioned towards the curtain. "I'm not as spry as I once was. If we are to speak, pray, indulge an old man and join me. I would presume that this will take some time. Come, come."
Jamie felt a sense of disorientation as the shimmering clouds of color, so much like the aura that had surrounded Alfrior's body, obscured her vision. She felt as though she were moving without motion, traveling without distance.
Corona's mind brushed up against her own, and she seemed to catch a glimpse of his great, reptilian eye. He spoke to her, his dry voice seeming to enter her brain without touching her ears. "Do you understand a little better now, who you are?"
Jamie shook her head, uncertain of whether the gesture would be appreciated, and said, "Only a little. I would presume that this Alfrior is one of my ancestors? But, why that exact time, those particular events?"
Corona smiled balefully at her, his shimmering teeth glittering in the void. "You're right, of course. As for the others... I'll give you a couple of freebies, mon cherie. If you want to know a little more of your grandcestor, look around for information about Sigrdrifa. That is a name she went by, later in life. She's not the only relative you saw, either, but Ill let you consider that one for yourself."
Something seemed familiar about that name, but she couldn't quite place it. Before she could think too much about it, though, Corona seemed to clasp her hand once more. "We have little time to spare. Ironic, isn't it? You've seen a little slice of your past. Now, however, I imagine you're a little curious about what's to come. You'll want to take notes. This might come at you a little fast."
The void seemed to shift once more, twisting around her, as the matrix of lambent energy built around them once more.
Branson sat next to Jamie's pallet, clutching his knees to his chest as he watched the calm rhythm of her breathing. Dawn was soon to come, and she still showed no sign of waking up. Elayne and Trent had left on patrol, and Kee had evaporated into the ether again, leaving him alone with Jamie. It wasn't as if they could really help her, but he wouldn't have minded someone to speak with.
As the pre-dawn glow began to fill the sky, his two companions returned, setting down quietly. Elayne walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and asked softly, "Any change, big guy?"
He shook his head sadly, and she wrapped herself around him in a hug. "It'll be alright, Bran. She knew what she was doing, y'know? She just needs time."
Trent and Elayne took their places along the crenulated wall, watching the city slowly awaken. Light washed across their skin, inducing the change to a grey color, its texture roughening.
It touched Branson a moment later, and he had the presence of mind to place a hand on her arm before he began to lose consciousness, a single tear making its way down his face as it turned to stone. His last thought, before dawn took him, was, "Please come back to me, my love."
----The End----